GIFT  or 
PROF.  C.A.  KOFOID 


"  /  knew  it  by  the  MacKinlay  Tartan."    (Page  562. 


THE  LATIMERS 


A  Tale  of  the  Western  Insurrection 
of  1794 


BY 


HENRY  CHRISTOPHER  McCOOK 


AUTHOB  OF  "  TENANTS  OF  AN  OLD  FABM,' 
"OLD  FARM  FAIKIES,"  ETC. 


FOURTH    THOUSAND. 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  CO. 

103  S.  FIFTEENTH  ST. 

1898 


'ti"1 


HENRY  CHRISTOPHER  McCOOK 


PEEFACE. 

In  the  following  romance  the  author  has  attempted  to 
picture  the  life  of  the  Scotch-Irish  pioneers  of  the  Ameri 
can  frontier  during  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
The  Colonial  immigrants  and  their  scions  of  this  vigorous 
stock  were  the  chief  pathfinders  of  our  then  Western 
border.  They  opened  the  wilderness  to  civilization.  They 
formed  a  barrier  between  the  hostile  Indians  and  the  grow 
ing  settlements  of  the  seaboard.  They  laid  the  foundations 
of  the  New  West,  the  Greater  America.  Whatever  throws 
light  upon  their  history  in  this  formative  era  should  in 
terest  not  only  their  descendants  but  all  who  have  profited 
by  their  labors  and  sufferings. 

In  prosecuting  his  purpose  the  author  has  diligently 
studied  this  people,  their  habits,  characteristics  and  envi 
ronment.  Local  histories  have  been  read.  Papers,  manu 
scripts,  pamphlets,  church  and  county  records  have  been 
examined.  The  scenery  described  has  been  personally  vis 
ited,  photographed  and  sketched,  and  topographical  plots 
and  maps  copied  and  drawn.  The  flora  and  fauna  and 
weather  conditions  have  been  noted.  The  biographies  of 
leading  and  typical  men  and  women  of  the  various  sections 
have  been  read.  The  dialect  has  been  especially  studied. 
For  several  years  the  author  has  been  engaged  in  preparing 
a  vocabulary  of  Scotch-Irishisms  which  contains  many 
hundreds  of  words,  phrases  and  sayings.  The  results  of 
this  research  are  shown  in  the  language  of  some  of  the 
characters  who  figure  in  the  story. 

The  period  in  which  the  narrative  is  located  was  one 
of  the  most  important  in  the  history  of  our  national  and 
social  development.  The  Old  West,  as  known  to  our  Colo 
nial  ancestors,  was  about  to  disappear,  or  to  recede  further 
towards  the  great  prairies.  The  last  decisive  conflict  be 
tween  the  white  men  led  by  General  Anthony  Wayne,  and 
the  aborigines,  was  impending  in  the  Northwestern  terri 
tory.  The  battle  of  Fallen  Timbers,  described  in  one  chap- 

M 101990  ' 


4  PEEFACE. 

ter,  and  the  pivot  of  several  chapters,  decided  the  destiny 
of  the  middle  West,  and  opened  its  territories  to  permanent 
settlement.  The  riots  and  risings  in  Western  Pennsylvania 
and  the  adjacent  sections,  stirred  up  by  Eevenue  troubles, 
were  then  fomenting,  and  subsequently  issued  in  what  is 
known  in  history  as  "The  Western  Insurrection,"  or  more 
popularly,  "The  Whiskey  Insurrection/'  Most  of  those 
engaged  in  this  disturbance  were  descendants  of  Scotch- 
Irishmen,  many  of  them  veterans  of  the  Revolutionary 
War.  The  incident  has  been  little  studied  and  less  under 
stood,  although  in  point  of  fact  it  had  a  most  important  in 
fluence  upon  the  growth  of  our  country. 

To  suppress  this  "insurrection"  President  Washington 
led  towards  the  frontier  an  army  which  in  point  of  equip 
ment  was  perhaps  superior  to  any  which  he  commanded 
during  the  War  for  Independence.  He  paused  at  Carlisle 
to  return  to  Philadelphia,  then  the  capital  of  the  Eepublic, 
leaving  General  Lee,  accompanied  by  Secretary  Hamilton, 
to  march  the  militia  across  the  mountains  to  the  scene  of 
the  disturbances  in  Washington  and  Allegheny  Counties. 
The  course  oi  the  story  leads  the  reader  into  the  midst  of 
these  stirring  events. 

Within  this  period  the  author  has  laid  the  scenes  of  his 
story.  Indeed,  it  has  been  a  chief  purpose  to  present  the 
true  character  of  this  famous,  or  as  it  is  more  commonly 
conceived,  this  infamous  insurrection.  A  degree  of 
obloquy  has  fallen  upon  the  race  most  closely  concerned 
therein,  which,  in  the  author's  judgment,  is  not  deserved. 
He  does  not  seek  to  exempt  the  Scotch-Irishmen  and  others, 
associated  directly  or  indirectly  with  the  Western  riots, 
from  deserved  censure;  but  he  believes  that  the  character 
of  the  men  concerned,  as  well  as  their  motives  and  the 
actual  degree  of  criminality  in  the  various  risings,  have 
been  exaggerated  and  misrepresented  in  history,  and  are 
not  understood  by  the  people  at  large.  In  the  various  inci 
dents  described,  the  author  uncovers  his  own  view  of  the 
origin,  progress  and  disappearance  of  this  insurrectionary 
movement.  While  he  does  not  suppose  that  his  personal 
bias  is  wholly  concealed,  yet  he  ventures  to  indulge  the 
hope  that  in  this  regard  he  has  shown  the  impartiality  and 
truthfulness  which  should  characterize  history,  even 
though  it  be  written  in  the  form  of  a  romance. 

JULY  3D,  A.  D.  1897. 


THE   LATIMERS 

A  TALE  OP  THE  WESTERN  INSURRECTION 
OF  1794 


CHAPTEE  I. 

"THIS  MAN  WAS  BORN  THERE." 

On  a  summer  eve  of  1792  three  men  pushed  a  boat  into 
the  Ohio  Eiver  from  the  mouth  of  Yellow  Creek.  One 
boatman  was  a  man  of  twenty,  who  sat  on  the  middle 
thwart  carelessly  dandling  a  rifle  on  his  knees,  and  viewing 
the  river  scenery  with  pleased  eye. 

Though  the  day  was  waning  apace,  the  sun  of  an 
August  afternoon  still  blazed  upon  the  water  which  ran 
scant  and  sluggish  through  the  narrowed  channel.  The 
heat  was  great,  but  the  air  was  not  humid,  and  it  lay  upon 
the  landscape  so  clear  that  every  sunbeam  twinkled  into 
the  deepest  heart  of  the  forest  foliage,  lighting  up  the 
leaves  with  many  hues  of  green  and  yellow,  and  showing 
the  patches  of  greenish  lichens  upon  the  gray  trunks. 
The  blades  of  grass  along  the  river  banks  stood  out  sharply 
in  the  transparent  atmosphere,  and  the  sunlight  cut  down 
to  their  very  roots.  The  rugged  hills  on  the  northern 
shore  rose  up  to  the  sky  line,  with  every  feathered  tree-top 
marked  in  clear  outline  against  the  deep  blue  which  swept 
zenithward  without  a  cloud. 

The  youth's  senses  were  as  tense  to  the  melodious 
sounds  as  to  the  sweet  sights  of  Nature,  and  he  noted  gladly 
how  the  waters  plashed  and  babbled  merrily  against  the 
bow  as  it  parted  them  asunder.  Song  birds  twittered  in  the 
hazelnut,  sumac  and  elder  bushes.  Mocking-birds  whistled 
in  the  woods.  Catbirds  called  from  the  low  trees.  The 
swing  of  an  eagle's  wing  shadowed  the  stream  as  the  bird 
started  up  from  its  nest  in  a  high  tree  that  a  thunderbolt 
had  smitten.  A  hen  crow  cawed  from  a  stump  where  her 
rude  nest  showed  atop,  with  her  broodlings'  black  heads 
perked  above  its  rim.  Great  buzzards  circled  aloft,  such 
ideals  of  graceful  motion  that  the  young  man,  who  knew 
their  ungainly  fashion  and  had  an  eye  for  goodly  seeming, 
wished  that  they  might  never  come  to  roost  again. 

(7) 


8  THE    LATIMEES. 


e  had  a  vision  of  a  doe  with  her  young 
conie  quite  down  from  the  bank  and  into 
a  didkk,  and  were  tardy  to  leave  off  at  the 
Strange  plasti  ainJ  signV  not  yet  having  well  learned  the 
fear  of  men.  But  presently  they  lifted  their  heads  and 
sniffed,  and  plashed  away,  and  rustled  through  the  bosky 
banks  into  the  forest. 

These  incidents  the  young  man  noted,  with  sundry 
comments  to  his  father,  who  sat  at  the  bow  paddle.  The 
latter  was  a  man  of  forty-five  or  thereabout,  although  the 
hardships  of  twenty-five  years  of  frontier  life  and  warfare 
had  grizzled  his  hair  and  written  lines  of  a  greater  age  upon 
his  beardless  face.  A  good  strong  face  it  was,  of  the  type 
which  we  know  as  Scotch-Irish,  and  would  have  been 
fair  but  for  the  swart  of  long  exposure.  Blue  gray  eyes 
looked  keenly  but  with  a  kindly  light  from  beneath  a  broad 
and  somewhat  beetling  brow.  The  nose  was  prominent, 
and  full,  shapely  lips  were  set  firmly  above  a  square  chin. 
The  third  man  in  the  boat  was  an  Indian,  well  advanced  in 
life,  as  far  as  one  might  judge;  for  to  tell  the  age  of  a  red 
man  from  his  looks  is  a  problem  that  Anglo-Saxon  wit  is 
slow  to  solve. 

The  boat  moved  steadily  up  stream  under  the  muscular 
arms  of  the  foresters,  and  by  the  bluffs  on  which  the  town 
of  Wellesville  now  nestles,  crowding  back  to  the  foot  of  its 
great  overshadowing  hill.  It  passed  the  wooded  site  of  the 
present  thriving  pottery  town  of  East  Liverpool;  and  soon 
thereafter  the  boundary  line  between  Pennsylvania  and 
Ohio,  and  thence  on  to  where  the  Little  Beaver  Creek 
makes  outlet  through  the  shaded  gorge  of  Smith's  Ferry. 

"A  lettle  furder,  lad/'  said  Luke  Latimer,  the  elder 
white  man.  "We'll  find  the  spot  within  a  half  mile  of  the 
creek.  Thar;  we're  most  fornenst  it  now;  what  say  you, 
Mingo?" 

The  Indian  gave  a  gutteral  assent,  and  pointed  to  a  black 
walnut  tree  rooted  upon  the  northern  bank.  Its  vast  spread 
of  branches  cast  a  wide  circle  of  shadow  upon  the  mellow 
green,  and  one  goodly  part  stretched  over  the  channel. 
There  is  nothing  nobler  in  nature  than  a  full-grown  tree, 
and  in  the  American  forests  of  that  date  there  were  many 
such.  The  white  men's  eyes  followed  the  Indian's  finger 
and  rested,  the  one  with  recognition,  the  other  with  admi 
ration,  upon  the  giant  plant.  One  would  mark  and  re- 


THE    LATIMEKS.  9 

member  it  anywhere;  but  the  peculiar  curve  of  one  of  its 
vast  roots  around  the  river  bank,  and  the  bearing  of  a  big 
bough  that  overhung  the  channel,  set  it  apart  from  all  its 
comrades  to  the  forester  wont  to  note  as  landmarks  every 
oddish  feature  of  the  landscape. 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  the  elder,  "theh's  no  mistakin'  that  lan'- 
mark.  Thar  on  the  lee  of  that  gnarled  root  I  us't  fer  to 
moor  my  boat, — whan  th're  was  anny  river  to  spake  of!" 
He  cast  a  depreciating  glance  upon  the  scant  proportions 
of  the  stream.  "But  we'll  nade  no  moorin's  the  daay.  We'll 
jist  stop  here  an'  pull  her  up  on  the  rocks."  He  turned 
the  bow  toward  the  edge  of  the  stream,  and  leaped  from  the 
boat,  followed  by  his  companion. 

The  river  bed  where  they  landed  was  a  solid  mass  of 
flat  rock  stretching  up  stream  and  down  for  many  rods, 
dipping  at  one  edge  into  the  water  and  at  the  other  under 
lying  the  bank,  which  was  twelve  to  twenty  yards  distant. 
In  ordinary  stages  of  the  river  all  this  was  under  water; 
but  it  sometimes  happened  in  midsummer  that  the  stream 
was  so  low  that  it  shrunk  from  either  shore  into  mid 
channel,  leaving  the  dry  bed  in  view. 

The  party  dragged  the  skiff  upon  the  rocky  platform, 
and  climbing  the  bank  by  the  great  walnut  tree,  began 
preparations  for  evening  camp.  It  was  a  time  of  peace; 
at  least  no  enemies  were  near,  and  although  precautions 
habitual  to  the  forester  were  not  wholly  forborne,  yet  the 
men  proceeded  with  that  cheerful  abandon  that  comes 
with  freedom  from  peril. 

But  first  of  all  Luke  Latimer  led  his  son  to  a  low  mound 
on  which  lay  the  ruins  of  a  cabin,  and  bade  him  look  and  be 
content,  for  there  was  the  spot  where  he  was  born.  The 
young  man,  leaning  on  the  muzzle  of  his  long  rifle,  gazed 
at  the  bit  of  ruin  before  him.  It  was  not  much,  indeed; 
a  few  yards  square  of  space,  covered  with  the  weedy  vegeta 
tion  which  creeps  up  from  some  unknown  retreat  when  the 
first  growth  is  burned  over.  Around  it  on  three  sides,  like 
a  frame  to  a  canvas,  were  thickened  clumps  of  varied  rank- 
ness;  daisies  in  full  bloom,  goldenrods  just  beginning  to 
show  the  yellow  in  their  plumes,  field  lilies  lifting  their 
whorled  stalks  and  spotted  orange-red  corals  above  all  the 
other  wild  flowers,  weeds  and  grasses.  On  the  fourth  side 
stood  the  remains  of  a  wide-mouthed  chimney.  Its  rough 
stones  were  put  in  rubblewise  with  mortar  and  it  was 


10  THE   LATIMERS. 

flanked  and  propped  at  each  end  by  pieces  of  mouldering 
logs  that  showed  still,  beneath  the  moss  and  wild  foliage, 
the  char  of  fire  and  the  hollows  which  flames  had  bitten 
out.  A  Virginia  creeper  embraced  the  rude  pile  within  its 
graceful  tendrils.  Behind  it,  stretching  almost  to  the 
forest,  was  a  thicket  of  blackberry  bushes  laden  with  lus 
cious  fruitage,  over  which,  as  the  young  man  looked,  a  hum 
ming-bird  was  hanging  and  flitting. 

The  youth  gazed  silently  upon  the  ruin,  his  fine  face 
ruffling  with  the  play  of  such  thoughts  as  one  must  have 
who  looks  for  the  first  time  after  many  years  upon  the 
scene  of  his  birth.  "And  now,  father,"  he  said,  breaking 
the  silence,  "you'll  tell  me  all  about  it;  there  could  be  no 
better  place  or  time." 

"Not  jist  yit,  son!  We'll  first  have  our  bite  an'  sup,  an' 
make  camp,  an'  then  I'll  e'en  be  as  good  as  my  worrd. 
Come  away,  then,  an'  lend  a  hand,  or  the  Mingo'll  have  all 
things  ready." 

But  the  Indian,  so  far  from  getting  things  ready,  leaned 
against  the  trunk  of  the  great  walnut,  motionless  as  though 
he  were  a  carved  figure.  Only  his  bright  eyes,  which  fol 
lowed  the  movements  of  his  companions,  showed  that  he 
had  due  sympathy  with  feelings  which  might  be  indulged 
at  such  a  time.  Let  one  be  white  or  red,  civilized  or  sav 
age,  he  must  have  felt  somewhat  of  the  emotion  which 
stirred  young  Latimer  as  he  stood  there  amidst  the  scenes 
of  his  birth  and  infancy.  Only  a  log  cabin  in  the  wilder 
ness! — a  rude  forest  site  such  as  birds  and  deer  and  squirrels 
possess;  but,  once  it  was  "home."  In  that  sentiment  red 
men  and  white  discover  the  unity  of  humanity. 

"We'll  make  camp,  Mingo,"  said  Luke  Latimer,  "if 
you'll  git  some'at  fer  supper." 

The  Indian  nodded  his  approval  of  this  division  of 
labor,  and,  resting  his  rifle  against  the  tree,  took  bow  and 
quiver,  for  he  would  not  waste  good  powder  and  shot  on 
such  game  as  he  sought.  Then  he  stole  away  into  the 
forest,  whence  he  returned  ere  long  with  a  string  of  fat 
gray  squirrels  and  a  brace  of  woodcock.  Meanwhile,  father 
and  son  had  built  a  booth  of  green  boughs  and  saplings, 
which  were  at  hand  in  plenty.  Two  stout  poles,  shred  of 
foliage  and  forked  at  the  top,  were  fastened  into  the  ground 
eight  feet  apart  and  six  feet  high.  Into  the  forks  a  third 
pole  was  laid,  against  which  were  leaned,  as  close  as  might 


THE   LATIMEES.  11 

be,  long  boughs  with  their  pliant  branches  and  twigs  com- 

Eressed  against  their  sides.  Into  these  again  were  inter- 
iced  wattles  of  greenery  until  all  was  well  thatched. 
The  sides  of  this  booth  were  staked  and  wrought  in  like 
manner,  and  the  front  left  open  toward  the  river,  and  fac 
ing  the  camp-fire  which  was  kindled  a  little  way  off. 
Feathered  ends  of  hemlock  twigs  from  the  hillside  were 
spread  upon  the  ground  beneath  the  rude  thatch,  and  over 
these  a  bearskin  from  the  boat  was  thrown.  Each  forester 
had  his  blanket,  and  thus  a  bivouac  was  made,  and  all  in 
trim  by  the  time  the  Mingo  had  dressed  his  game  ready  to 
be  roasted  upon  the  embers. 

The  shadow  of  the  high  and  abrupt  hill  had  darkened 
the  river  bank  and  bed  ere  the  foresters  had  finished  their 
simple  meal  of  toasted  game  and  parched  maize.  Now  the 
soft  cooing  of  a  wood-dove  beat  its  mournful  note  across  the 
river.  A  whippoorwill  whistled  from  the  chaparral. 
Night-owls  hooted  in  the  woods;  and,  to  remind  them  that 
forest  life  had  still  some  perils,  the  harsh  cry  of  a  cata 
mount  came  down  from  the  far-away  hilltop.  The  moon, 
just  past  its  first  quarter,  twinkled  and  shone  on  the  run 
ning  water,  and  threw  broad  patens  of  light  upon  the  mel 
low  sward  through  open  places  in  the  treetops. 

"Now,  my  son!"  said  Latimer.  "Come,  Mingo!" 
He  led  the  way  to  the  ruined  cabin.  A  large  oak  log 
lay  at  one  side,  the  trunk  of  a  tree  that  the  woodman's  axe 
had  felled  twenty  years  before.  The  good  remainder  had 
gone  into  the  cabin  walls  and  the  hearthstone  fire,  but  this 
bit  stayed  where  it  fell,  a  sort  of  rampart  screening  the  path 
to  the  spring.  Time,  weather,  mould  and  insect  teeth  had 
gnawed  somewhat  upon  it,  but  it  was  yet  a  tough  butt, 
though  covered  with  moss,  and  the  bark  was  dropping 
away.  Here  sat  down  the  three  men,  and  Luke  began  his 
story. 


12  THE   LATIMERS. 


CHAPTER  II. 


"It's  quite  nayter'l,  lad,  'at  ye  should  think  long  to  see 
the  spot  whar  ye  "were  born,  an'  1'arn  the  story  of  those 
'arly  days.  But  it's  a  melancholy  place  for  me  now,  I 
assure  ye.  Not  but  some  pleasant  thoughts  bubble  up 
above  the  black  an'  heavy  ones;  the  best  of  which  is  of 
yourself,  my  b'y,  an'  of  my  good  fri'nd  Panther."  He  cast 
a  glance  toward  the  Indian,  who  made  no  sign  except  in 
the  softness  and  unction  of  his  guttural  "hugh!" 

"In  the  'arly  spring  of  1772,  I  left  Fort  Pitt  with  y'r 
mother,  grandfather  an'  sister  Meg,  a  lass  o'  three  years. 
We  had  h'ard  much  of  the  fertyle  banks  of  the  Ohio  an' 
the  abundance  o'  game  thereon,  an'  though  the  Indians 
were  to  be  feared,  we  agreed  to  take  the  resks.  Y'r  mother 
would'nt  bide  behint,  though  we  wanted  her  to  do  so. 
Scotch  granite  itself  isn't  grittier  nor  she;  so  she  1'arnt  to 
use  the  rifle  an'  ax,  an'  said,  'we'll  live  or  die  thegither!' 
We  put  our  few  belongin's  intil  a  flat  boat,  an'  with  a  good 
canoe  a-draggin'  ahint,  poled  an'  drifted  away  from  the 
p'int,  foll'ed  by  the  good-byes  of  the  few  folk  in  the  little 
hamlet  outside  the  Fort.  Th're  weren't  more'n  twenty 
cabins  then  in  Pittsburg,  an'  a  hundred  or  two  people. 

"We  got  on  well  enough,  though  we  were  new  to  that 
kind  o'  navigatin',  ontil  jist  anigh  the  p'int  of  the  island 
above  here  we  snagged  our  flat  boat.  We  paddled  mother 
and  Meg  ashore  in  the  canoe  'asy  enough,  but  had  no  ind 
of  trouble  a-savin'  our  goods.  Howiver,  we  got  most  of 
'em,  though  some  were  damaged  an'  all  were  wet. 

"That  accident  determined  us  to  settle  whar  we  landed; 
an'  it  was  fair  enough  a  site  for  our  purpose.  The  fine 
bottom  lands  foment  us  on  the  Yirginny  shore  were  taken 
up  a'ready,  an'  we  dassent  to  settle  thar,  tho'  we  cast 
longin'  eyes  upon  it,  I  confess.  But  rocky  an'  rough  an' 
onpromisin'  as  this  shore  looks,  if  ye'll  climb  the  hill  ye'll 
find  a  table  of  as  fair  farmin'  land  as  one  nade  wush,  an' 
that  especially  pl'ased  mother's  fancy.  We  'lowed  to  hunt 
an'  trap,  for  the  most  part,  a  sight  better  business  nor 
farmin',  them  days;  an'  the  crick  below  us  swarmed  with 


THE    LATIMERS.  13 

beaver,  whoso  dams  blocked  it  from  the  mouth  clane  up 
til  the  head  waters  along  its  forks.  Bear  wrere  plenty 
among  the  rough  hills  below  an'  inland,  and  as  for  deer  an' 
small  game  th/re  was  no  end  on't.  So  we  landed  by  the 
great  walnut  tree  an'  built  our  log  cabin  here  on  the  bank, 
astead  of  up  on  the  uplands  whar  we  claired  our  planta 
tion. 

"It  was  a  good  big  cabin  with  a  high  loft  juttin'  over 
the  door,  with  loop-holes  for  our  rifles  on  all  sides.  Father 
an'  Meg  slep'  in  the  loft,  an'  wife  an'  I  slep'  in  bunks  below, 
for  your  mother  was  dilicate  then,  an'  we  were  lookin'  for 
you  soon. 

"Logan,  the  Mingo  chief,  had  his  village  at  the  mouth 
of  Yallow  Crick;  an'  as  he  was  fri'ndly  to  white  men,  father 
an'  I  went  down  the  river  to  a  council.  We  reported  our  set- 
tlemint,  told  our  intintions  an'  wushes  to  live  at  p'ace 
with  'em;  an',  although  we  had  tomahawked  our  claims  an' 
so  had  full  right  to  settle  (or  so  we  thought),  as't  their 
consant  fer  til  hunt  an'  trap  within  their  grounds.  The 
Mingoes  welcomed  us  as  brothers;  the  pipe  of  p'ace  was 
smoked;  we  made  prisents  of  powder,  tobacco  an'  whuskey 
to  the  chiefs,  an'  started  back  home  accompanied  by  a 
young  brave  who  from  that  day  to  this  has  been  my  brother. 
Yander  he  sets," — pointing  his  pipe  at  the  Indian, — "my  old 
fri'nd  and  brother,  Panther.  He  was  as  fine  a-lookin'  war 
rior  as  iver  walked  the  forest;  an'  as  to  courage,  ther's 
small  nade  to  spake  o'  that,  for  you  yoursilf  have  seed  it 
tried.  The  cussed  hands  of  bloody  Dan  Greathouse  an' 
Cap'n  Cresap  wrought  foul  treechery  an'  murder  on  his 
kith  an'  kin,  two  years  thereafter;  but  betwixt  him  an' 
me  no  cloud  has  iver  come  an'  niver  wull.  Whan  he  had 
visited  the  cabin  an'  f oun'  how  it  was  with  mother,  he  pad 
dled  down  the  river  an'  brung  up  his  wife,  Featherfoot, 
then  the  handsomest  squaw  in  the  Ohio  country,  an'  as 
good  as  fair.  She  tarried  with  us  ontil  you  were  born, — 
'arly  on  a  bright  May  morniii'  it  was, — an'  you  may  think 
what  a  comfort  she  was,  with  no  women  folks  in  the  house 
but  wee  Meg. 

"What  a  time  that  was!  I  mind  as  well  as  though  but 
yisterday  the  heavy  rains  that  fell  a  few  weeks  after  your 
birth.  Little  Beaver  Crick  was  a  roarin'  torrent.  The  Ohio 
was  in  good  stage,  but  it  soon  riz  up,  up,  till  I  thought  it 
would  niver  stay.  It  filled  both  banks  plumb  full;  an' 


14  THE    LATIMERS. 

though  that  walnut  tree  stands  high  on  the  bluff,  the  water 
swirled  around  iL  Ye  mark  that  the  cabin  site  is  on  a 
lettle  swell  of  the  foothill;  an'  we  had  built  it  two  good 
i'eet  above  ground,  blockin'  it  up  to  let  the  air  play  aneath 
it.  That  was  your  mother's  fancy,  an'  it  stood  us  in  good 
stead,  for  the  flood  covered  the  forty  yards  atween  cabin 
an'  river  bank,  Favin'  us  for  a  day  at  laste  with  the  water 
a-lippin'  an'  a-plashin'  at  our  door.  But  thar  it  was  stayed, 
thank  God!  an'  in  a  day  or  two  it  had  shrunk  back  beyant 
the  knoll,  an'  so  kep'  on  faliin'. 

"Ahbut,  it  was  a  sight  to  see  that  angry  strame  an'  to 
hear  its  bellerin' !  Driftwood,  tall  trees  cut  out  from  shore 
by  the  wrenchin',  burrowin'  current,  went  careerin'  in  mid- 
channel,  wildly  bobbin'  up  an'  down;  swirlin'  off  now  into 
an  eddy  clost  til  our  shore;  lockin'  limbs  an'  roots  an' 
formin'  great  piles;  aidgin'  an'  a-crowdgin'  up  toward  the 
top  with,  the  squazin'  flood  inunder,  like  scramblin'  swine 
in  a  sty;  crashin',  grindin',  creakin',  groanin',  swayin'  to  an' 
fro;  then  one  after  another  frayin'  off  from  the  aidge  of  the 
heap  ontil  the  whole  mass  was  dissolved,  an'  plunged  away 
once  more  intil  mid  strame. 

"The  day  when  the  water  began  to  fall  was  a  throng  day 
for  us.  'Arly  in  the  mornin'  we  saw  a  birch  canoe  a-driftin' 
at  fearful  speed  down  strame,  guided  by  an  Indian  squaw. 
She  had  lost  her  paddle,  an'  was  tryin'  to  kape  her  boat  in 
the  current  an'  aidge  it  shore'ard.  But  the  strongest  brave 
might  well  have  failed  in  such  a  flood,  an'  it  was  plain  she 
must  soon  drown.  She  saw  us,  an'  looked  pitiful  enough, 
but  niver  made  cry  or  sign.  Indade  we  naded  none,  for  our 
boat  was  a'ready  off  shore,  an'  we  was  paddlin'  towards  her. 
Providence  favored  us,  an'  we  caught  the  canoe  jist  as  it 
swep'  past  the  fut  of  the  island,  though  it  was  sore  wark 
for  a  while  breastin'  that  current.  By  sheer  might  an'  skill 
we  all  three  belt  the  canoe  to  our  gunwale  till  the  squaw 
Taped  lightly  as  an  arrow  intil  our  boat,  an'  then  lettin'  her 
own  drift,  dropped  upon  the  thwart,  and  throwed  back  her 
black  hair  with  a  fhugh'  of  satisfaction. 

"'Why,  Featherfoot!'  I  cried,  <is  it  you?  Thank  God 
truly  for  this!' 

"  'Humph!'  she  said,  noddin'  assent;  for  Featherfoot  in- 
dade  it  was,  the  good  squaw  \vho  had  presided  over  your 
birth.  She  had  been  off  on  a  huntin'  trip  with  Panther,  an' 
while  he  was  in  the  woods  she  ventur'd  to  cross  the  river, 


THE    LATIMERS.  15 

havin'  confidence  in  her  skill;  an'  she  would  'a  done  it  too, 
if  her  paddle  hadn't  'a  broke." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  the  Mingo,  who  thus  far  had  lis 
tened  to  the  story  seemingly  as  unmoved  as  the  log  on 
which  he  was  sitting. 

"Ay,  comrade,"  resumed  Latimer,  "that  she  sartainly 
would.  But  the  han'le  of  a  paddle  is  a  pore  tool  fer  til 
guide  a  boat  through  a  flood.  How  the  woman  managed  to 
kape  alive  that  frail  bit  o'  bark  in  sich  a  ragin'  strame, 
passes  my  ken.  I  would  hardly  'a  belaved  it,  though  I 
know  the  rivercraft  an'  woodcraft  of  the  red  man  surpasses 
all  praise. 

"Well,  we  were  glad  enough  to  do  this  turn  to  one  who 
had  so  befrinded  us,  you  may  be  sure.  Wife  urged  Feather- 
foot  to  bide  a  while;  but,  without  bite  or  sup,  an'  tarryin' 
only  to  kiss  the  baby  an'  cuddle  it  a  bit,  she  tuk  the  river 
trail  an'  hurried  up  strame  to  meet  her  husban',  knowin' 
well  that  he  would  worry  over  her  absence.  I  belave  she 
made  her  own  camp  afore  the  Mingo  thar  got  back,  an'  his 
first  knowledge  was  from  her  own  lips." 

"It  is  so!"  the  Indian  interrupted,  "Featherfoot  told 
all.  My  brother  says  true,  but  not  enough.  It  was  much 
brave.  White  men  t'rowed  their  lives  on  angry  river  to 
save  an  Indian  woman.  It  was  Featherfoot.  We  have  not 
forgotten!" 

"Tut,  tut,  Mingo,  it  was  nought!  Anny  man  with  half 
a  heart  would  'a  done  as  much;  an'  aven  if  we  were  all  as 
you  say, 'you've  repaid  it  manny  fold  sin'  syne.  Well,  that 
was  a  good  beginnin'  of  the  day.  But  another  adventur' 
foll'ed.  In  the  afternoon,  along  with  the  wild  drift  of  the 
river  began  to  come  flotsam  of  another  sort,  showin'  that 
somewhar  the  waters  had  invaded  the  settlemint  of  a  white 
man  an'  overturned  his  cabin  an'  carried  off  his  plunder. 
We  tried  to  save  some  of  this,  for  the  island  up  yander 
throwed  the  current  well  toward  our  shore.  We  got  in  a 
few  chairs,  a  table,  an'  oddly  enough  an  ole  door  with  a 
cock  an'  two  hens  an'  aven  one  chicken  a-ridin'  safe  upon 
it.  Meg  took  these  in  hand,  an'  what  a  fuss  she  did  make 
over  them,  to  be  sure! 

"Now,  a  lettle  later,  what  should  we  spy  but  a  cradle 
a-ridin'  in  mid  current,  an'  a-bobbin'  up  an'  down  on  the 
crests  of  the  waves.  It  was  jist  what  I  wanted  for  the  new 
baby,  an'  athout  lettin'  on  to  wife,  whom  I  wushed  to  sur- 


16  THE   LATIMEKS. 

prise,  I  called  father,  an'  we  pushed  out  intil  the  river. 
We  caught  the  cradle  with  some  trouble,  an'  as  father 
drew  it  to  the  boat  to  make  fast  a  tow  rope,  he  exclaimed: 

"  'My  God,  Luke,  there's  a  baby  inside!' 

"I  started,  half  risin'  to  see,  but  the  boat  gave  a  lurch, 
an'  as  it  was  ticklish  work  a-rowin'  in  sich  waters,  I  got 
but  a  brief  look. 

"  'Is  it  alive,  father?'  I  asked. 

"'I  do  belave  it  is!'  he  said.  'Ay,  surely!'  For  jist 
then  the  wee  thing  moved  an'  began  to  moan. 

"  'Save  the  baby!'  I  said,  'an'  let  the  cradle  drift!' 

"  'Na,  na,'  said  he,  'we'll  save  'em  both,  pl'ase  God!  an' 
lettle  John  shall  have  both  bed  an'  bedfellow/ 

"Well,  to  cut  matters  short,  we  got  babe  an'  cradle  safe 
to  shore,  an'  whan  we  intered  the  cabin,  father  first  a-car- 
ryin'  the  cradle,  an'  I  a  bit  behint  him  bearin'  the  baby 
gingerly  on  its  lettle  bed,  th'e  was  a  scane,  ye  may  belave. 
What  betwixt  mother  an'  Meg,  there  was  cryin'  an'  cacklin', 
an'  kissin'  an'  huggin'  enough  to  satisfy  anny  heart,  an'  in 
sooth,  father  an'  I  j'ined  in. 

'"Poor  mitherless  bairn!'  said  wife;  an'  thereat  she 
clapped  the  rascued  child  to  her  breast,  an'  it  was  a  bonnie 
sight  to  see  the  puir  thing  gurgle  an'  suck.  It  was  a  fine 
boy,  about  your  age,  John,  mebbe  a  bit  older  nor  you,  an' 
of  coorse  then  an'  thar  we  adopted  it  as  our  own.  They 
was  room  in  her  heart  for  the  two,  mother  said,  an'  milk 
enow  in  her  breast;  an'  what  could  we  do  besides? 

"That  avenin'  at  warship,  an  old  fashion  an*  a  good 
one,  too,  that  father  al'ays  kep'  up,  for  said  he,  'whariver 
God  gives  me  home,  thar  wull  I  give  him  homage',  he  read 
the  story  of  how  the  Hebrew  child  Moses  was  saved  from 
the  Egyptian  river.  An'  thinkin'  of  how  we  had  drawed 
this  babe  from  the  flooded  Ohio,  we  called  him  Moses. 

"We  thought  the  laddie  would  make  a  fine  playfellow 
for  you  when  you  should  grow  up.  You  were  wonderfully 
alike,  at  laste  to  me,  for  I  niver  could  well  dis'arn  betwixt 
rale  young  infants,  they  lookin'  all  alike  to  me.  So  she 
kep'  aroun'  Moses's  throat  a  coral  necklace  which  he  wore 
when  rascued,  an'  thus  we  men  folks  knowed  one  from 
t'other. 

"Whin  you  were  two  months  old,  an'  mother  could  go 
about  the  house  comfo'table  agin,  for  she  was  a  hab 
woman  an'  niver  staid  long  in  bed  aven  with  her  babies, 
we  thought  best  f er  to  lave  her  an'  the  childer  an'  look  after 


THE   LATIMERS.  17 

our  traps.  It  had  been  a  good  month  sence  we  saw  'em, 
one  thing  an'  another,  but  especially  your  comin'  havin' 
detained  us;  an'  the  flood,  too,  we  consated  must  'a  wrought 
mischief  to  'em.  As  our  livin'  depinded  on  our  furs,  father 
an'  I  set  forth,  though  loth  to  leave  mother  with  only  Meg 
to  tend  her.  But  they  were  us't  to  bidin'  th'r  lone,  as  all 
pioneer  women  must  be. 

"Moses  was  rather  porely  when  we  left,  bein'  the  warse, 
we  fancied,  for  the  hard  usage  of  the  flood.  But  wife  be- 
laved  it  was  but  a  light  turn,  an'  we  set  out  with  a  good 
heart. 

"We  were  gone  tan  days,  an'  as  we  drew  nigh  the  cabin 
with  a  cheery  haloo  of  warnin',  Meg  met  us  with  a  tearful 
face  an'  the  news  that  wee  Moses  had  died  the  night  afore. 
We  found  the  lettle  fellow  a-lyin'  in  the  cradle  with  his 
coral  necklace  around  his  white  throat,  an'  his  purty  dud- 
dies  in  which  we  saved  him  spread  smoothly  on  him. 

"Th're  was  a  sweet  smile  on  his  face,  an'  his  blue  eyes 
were  half  open,  an'  his  pink  fingers,  not  yet  stiff,  folded 
over  his  bosom.  Th're's  no  more  touchin'  sight,  an'  for 
that  matter  no  sweeter  one  nor  a  wee  dead  child.  It  was 
amazin'  how  mother  did  greet  for  that  stranger  lad;  he 
seemed  in  his  short  stay  to  have  laid  aholt  of  her  heart 
a'most  as  tho'  he'd  been  her  own;  an'  indade  we  all  truly 
loved  him,  the  poor  orphan  waif! 

"Nex'  day,  lackin'  materials  for  a  coffin,  we  buried  him 
in  his  little  cradle,  for  so  mother  would  have  it,  coverin' 
up  the  top  snugly,  an'  father  readin'  the  Book  an'  makin' 
a  prayer.  But  the  necklace  an'  locket  an'  some  of  the  in 
fant  duds  wife  kep';  for  some  time,  she  said,  some  one  may 
be  a-seekin'  him,  an'  it  would  be  a  comfoit  for  a  mother  to 
know  that  her  bairn  had  been  well  cared  for,  an'  given 
Christian  intarmint.  But  we've  niver  ha'rd  a  word  of  quest 
or  'quiry  durin'  all  the  long  years  sence;  an'  the  mystery 
of  the  laddie's  comin'  has  niver  been  solved,  nor  is  it  like 
to  be. 

"It  was  long  afore  we  forgot  the  wee  stranger.  Your 
mother  would  often  prattle  to  you,  as  she  helt  you  to  her 
breast,  of  the  dead  baby,  an'  to  this  day  she  can  hardly 
spake  of  him  athout  a  tremblin'  in  her  voice.  I  all'ys 
admired  that  in  her.  Th're  few  women  with  a  tanderer 
heart,  John,  nor  your  mother;  though  she  can  swing  an 
axe  with  the  best  woodman,  an'  shoot  a  rifle  with  true  aim." 
2 


18  THE   LATIMEKS. 


CHAPTER  III. 

LUKE  LATIMEE  GETS  HIS  WAR-NAME,  "RED  AXE." 

"An,  now,  lad,  the  warst  is  to  come.  It's  droughty 
wark  a-tellin'  sich  a  tale,  so  fetch  a  drink  from  the  spring, 
that  I  may  slock  my  thirst,  for  my  throat  is  as  dry  as  a 
corncob."  John  brought  the  water  in  a  drinking  horn  that 
hung  at  his  side.  The  father  took  a  hearty  draught,  and 
resumed  his  story: 

"Our  life  for  the  nex'  year  differed  lettle  from  that  of 
an  ord'nary  pioneer.  We  hunted,  trapped,  presarved  our 
skins,  an'  marketed  'em  with  the  traders  at  Fort  Pitt,  an' 
tilled  our  upland  plantation  for  bread  an'  vegetables 
enough  to  kape  the  pot  b'llin'.  We  didn't  al'ays  stay  here, 
but  wair  on  the  wing  here  and  thar  where  game  was  most 
plentiful,  and  often  in  company  with  the  Mingoes,  who 
wair  our  sworn  fri'nds  an'  allies.  It  was  a  half  savage  life, 
but  pleasant  enough  in  the  main,  an'  we  al'ays  came  back 
to  'Indian  Rocks,'  as  our  settlement  was  called,  as  home. 

"But  now  matters  began  to  grow  sayrious  for  us.  The 
Shawnees  tuk  the  warpath,  and  the  frontier  became  the 
scane  of  a  bloody  conflic'.  The  fri'ndship  of  the  Mingoes 
saved  us,  but  we  knowed  that  we  couldn't  long  hold  our 
position.  So,  aided  and  advised  by  Panther,  we  made  ready 
to  go  intil  the  old  settlemints  of  Washm'ton  county,  which 
wair  large  enough  to  be  secure  agin  ord'nary  assault.  Pitts- 
burg  was  less  secure  nor  our  own  cabin;  for  the  settlers 
couldn't  live  inside  the  fort  walls,  and  the  place  contin'ally 
invited  attack  by  its  military  importance.  We  had  made 
all  our  preparations,  had  our  goods  and  gear  packed  in  an 
extra  boat,  and  lay  down  ready  for  an  'aiiy  start  nex'  day. 
You  wair  res'less  that  night  from  some  brash  or  other,  an' 
your  mother  havin'  been  up  to  care  for  you  slep'  lightly. 

"She  was  roused  by  the  whustle  of  a  whippoorwill. 
Now  theh's  nothin'  strange  in  that,  for  you  know  our 
woods  is  full  of  thim  birds,  which,  like  most  of  the  owl 
kind,  are  abroad  at  night  after  prey.  But  it  so  happened 
that  Panther  had  arranged  a  private  signal  with  us  of 
which  the  whippoorwill's  call  was  the  first  note;  an'  we 
wair  apt  to  give  some  extra  heed  to  it.  So  wife  listened 


THE    LATIMERS.  19 

keenly,  bein'  narvous  about  the  Indians,  as  we  all  wair; 
and  prisently  h'ard  the  trill  of  a  tree  toad;  then,  folio  win' 
clostely,  a  softer  whippoorwill's  note  rep'ated.  That  was 
our  full  signal! 

"She  quietly  woke  me,  an'  I  had  jist  time  fer  to  git  my 
rifle  an'  rouse  father,  whan  th're  came  a  low  tap  at  the  door 
like  the  crackle  of  a  beetle;  then  another,  folPed  by  the 
shrill  of  a  cricket.  Panther,  sartin!  For  that,  too,  was  a 
private  signal.  I  knowed  at  w^anct  sich  caution  meant  a 
great  an'  prisent  danger;  so  warnin'  all  to  utmost  silence, 
unbarred  the  door  an'  opened  it  quietly.  Panther  lay  at 
the  lintel  on  the  log  stoop,  an'  glidin'  in  like  a  sarpent, 
while  I  closed  the  door  softly,  stood  up  an'  uttered  sich  a 
'hugh!'  of  satisfaction  that  my  blood  tingled  with  axcite- 
ment,  for  I  knowed  what  danger  he  must  'ave  escaped.  He 
glanced  round  the  cabin  an'  seem'  wife  awake,  laid  his 
Hnger  on  his  lips.  But  th're  was  small  nade  o'  that  caution, 
for  your  mother  knowed  border  ways  fine,  as  well  as  anny 
ranger  of  us  all. 

"  'The  Bended  Knee,  is  he  here?'  That  was  the  name 
father  went  by  among  the  Mingoes,  who  had  obsarved  his 
habit  oi  kneelin'  to  pray  at  warship;  an'  th'e  wasn't  many 
foresters  'at  they  could  honestly  have  called  the  same. 
Though  we  did  warship  too,  after  a  silent  sort,  an'  few 
wair  onbelavers. 

"  'Ay,'  I  whuspered,  'he  is  in  the  loft  at  the  loop-hole/ 

"  'Good!  An'  Sunny  Hair?'  So  they  called  our  little 
Meg,  on  account  of  her  flaxen  locks. 

"  'Asleep  in  the  loft,  all  right.  We're  all  in,  an'  ready 
for  flittin'  the  morrow.  But  whativer  diviltry  is  up, 
Panther?  Somethin'  sayrious,  I'm  sure.  Out  with  the 
warst,  at  wanct!" 

"  'Shawnees!'  he  answered.  'Here;  now;  on  the  hill;  in 
the  river;  there  in  the  great  walnut!'  Then  in  his  brief, 
jerky  way  he  let  us  know  how  he  had  struck  their  trail,  an' 
sendin'  Featherfoot  to  alarm  the  village  at  Yallow  Crick, 
had  foll'ed  to  Indian  Eocks;  an'  changin'  his  war  paint  to 
that  of  a  Shawnee  brave,  he  had  mingled  with  'em  freely, 
an'  found  out  their  plans. 

"They  had  moved  our  boats  up  strame  fornenst  the 
island,  an'  had  sent  a  party  'round  to  attack  in  the  rare 
from  the  hillside  while  the  others  should  charge  in  front 
an'  break  in  the  door.  I'm  not  more  car'ful  for  my  life  nor 


20  THE    LATIMERS, 

most  men,  but  I  shuddered  to  think  what  danger  my 
fambly  had  escaped;  though,  for  that  matter,  I  hardly  saw 
how  we  could  win  a  safe  place.  Our  only  chanct,  I  soon 
found,  was  to  hold  out  till  the  Mingoes  came  to  our  aid, 
which  we  knowed  they  would,  with  haste  an'  saycrecy.  We 
agreed  that  the  Shawnees  must  have  no  hint  that  we 
knowed  their  prisence,  but  let  'em  attack  thinkin'  us  wholly 
onready.  We  should  gain  two  things  by  that;  freer  expo 
sure  of  our  inemies'  parsons,  whereby  we  could  do  'em  more 
harem;  an'  the  greater  likelihood  'at  they  would  retire  an' 
delay  their  next  onset  through  greater  caution,  an'  thus 
gain  us  time,  which  was  what  we  craved. 

"Ther'  were  four  rifles  of  us,  for  your  mother  is  a  fair 
shot;  an'  as  she  could  shoot  under  kiver,  an'  had  a  firm 
mind  to  do  so,  we  consinted.  She  took  one  of  the  loop 
holes  in  the  loft  a-guardin'  the  front  with  father,  an' 
Panther  an'  I  below  watched  toward  the  hillside.  The 
moon  was  nigh  full,  and  the  night  onclouded,  which  was 
better  for  us.  All  'round  the  cabin  we  had  claired  away 
trees  an'  underbrush,  an'  acrost  this  open  space  we  con- 
sated  the  Shawnees  would  make  a  rush. 

"Affairs  wrought  as  we  had  reckoned.  We  hadn't  been 
on  guard  long  whan  the  signal  came.  The  hoot  of  an  owl 
from  the  hill  was  answered  by  the  shriek  of  a  night-hawk 
in  the  big  walnut.  Th're  was  a  moment's  pause,  an'  then 
the  open  space  seemed  alive  with  warriors.  Four  big  chaps 
led  the  front,  a-carryin'  betwixt  'em  a  log  with  which  they 
rushed  straight  at  the  cabin  door.  They  were  so  sure  of 
their  game  that  ere  they  were  half  way  over  the  clairin' 
they  gave  cry  with  their  war-whoop.  Then  I  made  signal, 
an'  four  rifle  shots  rung  among  their  yells,  foll'ed  closetly 
by  two  shots  from  a  pair  of  horse  pistols  that  father  an'  I 
managed.  Not  a  shot  was  wasted.  Five  warriors  fell,  an'  a 
sixth  was  whirled  around  like  a  top,  an'  his  tomahawk  spun 
from  his  hand  as  his  arms  fell  by  his  side. 

"The  silence  which  foll'ed  was  awful  in  contrast  with 
the  pravious  whoopin'.  But  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  an' 
then  came  a  yell  of  mingled  grief  an'  rage  that  I  have 
niver  h'ard  ekaled  on  this  border.  Saizin'  their  dead,  the 
Shawnees  scurried  back  intil  the  woods.  But  they  weren't 
wholly  under  cover  afore  we  had  reloaded  and  sint  another 
volley  after  'em.  Their  batterin'  ram  was  left  whar  it  fell, 
for  two  of  the  braves  who  bore  it  had  fallen,  one  of  'em  by 
wife's  shot.  So  the  matter  inded  for  the  time. 


THE    LATIMEKS.  21 

"But  we  didn't  flatter  oursePs  that  the  danger  was 
over.  The  hostyles  would  count  that  we  had  six  men  in 
the  cabin  an'  wrould  be  wary;  but  that  they'd  give  up 
athout  an  attempt  at  revenge  we  niver  thought.  In  good 
time  we  had  notice  of  their  plans,  for  arrows  with  burnin' 
brands  tied  to  'em  began  a-rainin'  on  the  cabin  roof  from 
the  hill  above  us.  We  tried  to  dislodge  the  archers  with 
our  rifles;  but  as  we  had  to  fire  at  random,  or  by  the  direc 
tion  from  which  the  arrows  flew,  we  couldn't  stop  'em.  The 
roof  caught  fire,  but  we  cut  an  openin'  through  the  cla'- 
boards  and  quenched  the  flames,  though  it  was  resky  wark. 
But  more  fire-bran's  flew,  the  roof  was  agin  in  flames,  an' 
only  water  could  save  us. 

"Now  you  mind  that  the  cabin  stood  on  blocks,  quite 
above  the  ground;  and  th're  was  a  trap  door  in  the  floor 
through  which  I  wint  with  two  buckets,  an'  creepin'  out, 
sheltered  by  this  big  log  on  which  we  now  set,  managed  fer 
to  win  the  spring  an'  git  back  onharmed.  But  the  rascals 
soon  found  out  that  trick  an'  made  it  too  hot  fer  me. 

"At  last,  it  came  to  a  ch'ice  betwixt  roastin'  by  fire  in 
the  cabin,  or  dyin'  by  Shawnees  in  the  open;  an'  well  the 
red  fiends  knowed  it,  fer  the  woods  resounded  with  their 
ta'ntin'  yells.  Jist  then,  in  the  last  nick  of  time,  hope 
came.  The  sharp  ears  of  Panther  detected  signals  that  his 
frien's  were  near.  They  were  comin'  along  the  river  trail 
from  below,  an'  over  the  hillside  in  the  rear  of  the  Shaw 
nees.  It  passes  me  how  he  knowed;  but  the  red  man  has  a 
sixth  sense,  I  think,  when  it  comes  to  wood  sounds  an' 
sights.  So  we  agreed  to  lave  the  cabin  an'  take  refuge 
ahint  this  log,  drawin'  the  inemy's  fire;  for  they  w^ere  all 
now  on  the  hill.  The  big  walnut  an'  the  river  bank,  bein' 
within  our  rifle  range,  had  been  abandoned.  Then  father 
and  Panther  wair  to  crouch  behint  the  log  with  their  rifles 
an'  the  two  pistols,  an'  hold  the  inemy  at  bay,  while  I  with 
wife  an'  the  childer  made  a  rush  toward  the  shelter  of  the 
bank,  an'  in  the  direction  of  the  comin'  Mingoes. 

"We  got  through  the  trap,  an'  won  the  log.  Then 
Panther  Taped  atop  the  trunk,  shuck  his  rifle  at  the  hill, 
an'  raised  the  Mingo  war-whoop.  At  the  same  time  father 
showed  himself  with  a  lusty  halloo  of  defiance.  Down  they 
dropped,  foll'ed  by  a  volley  from  the  Shawnees,  an'  then 
we  made  our  break.  I  had  you  in  one  arm,  John,  an'  an 
axe  in  the  other.  Mother  carried  a  rifle  an'  led  Meg 


22  THE   LATIMEES. 

by  the  hand.  On  we  sped  for  dear  life,  while  from  the 
hill  an'  forest  there  rose  a  shout  that,  well  us't  to  it  as  I 
was,  made  me  heartsick.  I  hardly  knowed  how  it  came 
about,  so  quickly  things  passed,  but  I  knowed  the  Shawnees 
was  a-chargin'.  I  h'ard  three  rifle  shots  ahint  me,  an'  the 
Panther's  war-cry  far  above  the  din,  mingled  with  father's 
hearty  hurrah;  an'  then,  I  was  fightin'  han'  to  han'  with  a 
gang  of  warriors,  while  you  lay  at  my  feet  ahint  me.  My 
axe  wrought  havoc  with  each  swing.  I  h'ard  the  ring  of 
your  mother's  rifle,  an'  the  shriek  of  Meg  as  a  painted  divil 
saized  her.  I  saw,  or  felt,  ruther  nor  saw,  my  wife  swing 
her  clubbed  gun  among  the  dusky  warriors,  then  stagger 
an'  fall.  I  was  hit  more  nor  wanct,  but  in  the  fierce  for- 
gitfulness  of  sich  high  fevered  axcitement  wounds  seemed 
no  more  to  me  nor  the  stings  o'  hornets. 

"Then  I  was  conscious  of  a  well-known  an'  welcome 
cry,  that  sounded  amid  the  clamor  like  angels'  songs, — the 
war-whoop  of  the  Mingoes.  A  rush  of  dusky  forms  swep' 
over  the  moonlit  space  an'  closed  around  us.  Mingoes  an' 
Shawnees  mingled  for  a  while  in  the  awful  swirl  of  han' 
to  han'  conflic',  in  the  midst  of  which  I  knowed  that  I  was 
a-ladin'  on,  side  by  side  with  Chief  Logan,  while  the  foe 
gave  way,  slowly  at  first,  an'  then  breakin'  into  flight, 
plunged  intil  the  forest.  I  felt  the  thrill  of  victory  an' 
started  in  pursuit,  but — thar  all  consciousness  ceased. 

"My  next  remambrance  was  of  my  wife  a-bendin'  over 
me  on  one  side  an'  good  Panther,  here,  on  t'other,  a-rub- 
bin'  my  wounds  with  Indian  oil  an'  a-bindin'  'em  with  rude 
sargery.  It  was  mornin';  the  battle  was  over;  the  Mingoes 
were  preparin'  their  dead  to  bear  home  to  the  village.  An' 
alas!  my  dead,  too,  for  closte  aside  me  lay  dear  father. 
Panther  '11  tell  you  how  fightin'  side  by  side  with  him,  the 
Bended  Knee  fell  an'  died,  an'  gave  us  our  only  hope  of 
escape.  I  looked  for  a  little  form  beside  hissen,  ay  for  two 
of  'em,  but  saw  them  not  and  feared  to  ask.  Featherfoot 
read  my  thought  in  my  eyes  and  brought  you,  my  b'y,  that 
you  might  kiss  me. 

"  'And  Meg?'  I  cried,  'where  is  she?'  They  shuck  their 
heads.  My  pretty  lass,  my  darlin'  Sunny  Hair  was  gone! 
An'  from  that  day  to  this,  though  we  have  s'arched  the 
border  through,  we  have  h'ard  no  word  of  her.  Dead  or 
alive,  God  only  knows." 

"God,"  said  Panther,  speaking  up  quickly,  "God — and 
the  Shawnees." 


THE   LATIMERS.  23 

"Ay,  my  brother,  God  an'  the  Shawnees.  An'  Heaven 
send  she  be  dead  ruther  nor  a  captive  wife  in  a  Shawnee 
warrior's  lodge. 

"They's  lettle  more  to  tell,  John.  We  buried  your 
grandfather  thar  at  the  fut  of  the  hill  aside  little  Moses, 
an'  the  good  Mingoes  heaped  stones  from  the  river  above 
their  graves.  They  nursed  me  intil  health,  an'  as  our 
boats  had  been  rascued,  wrhen  I  was  able  to  travel  we  went 
away  to  Washin'ton  County  and  settled  nearby  our  fri'nds 
at  Canonsburg.  That  is  the  story  of  how  your  grandfather 
was  killed,  an'  your  sister  Meg  lost,  an'  I  got  my  warrior 
name.  Afore  that  the  Mingoes  al'ys  called  me  Big  Walnut, 
from  the  old  tree  by  our  cabin  camp.  But  ther'after  they 
named  me  Red  Axe;  an'  I  suppose  I  must  'a  desarved  it,  for 
their  Chief,  Captain  John  Logan,  has  told  me,  an'  Panther 
too,  that  I  swung  my  axe  through  the  Shawnees  like  a 
sickle  in  the  rye-field.  But  I  hardly  knowed  what  I  did. 
My  blood  was  in  a  faver,  an'  my  brain  in  a  daze,  an'  I 
seemed  to  be  borne  on  by  some  power  other  nor  myself. 
But  come!  it  is  late,  an'  I'm  a-weary  with  my  tale.  It's 
long  years  sence  I  telled  it,  lad,  an'  I'll  niver  tell  't  agin. 
Xow,  let's  to  sleep." 

Before  the  young  man  lay  down,  he  went  away  and 
looked  at  the  two  graves.  They  were  still  marked  by  the 
cairns  that  the  friendly  red  men  had  heaped;  but  the  moss 
had  covered  them,  and  a  growth  of  -wild  roses  overbore 
them.  He  trimmed  with  his  hatchet  the  tangled  vegeta 
tion  into  some  shapeliness,  until  the  graves  stood  forth  in 
fairer  outlines,  as  the  moonbeams  nestled  upon  them. 
Then,  filled  with  strangely  conflicting  thoughts,  he  lay 
down  beside  his  father  and  the  Mingo  underneath  the 
green  canopy. 

The  fire  grew  dim,  and  its  last  flames  seemed  to  be 
licked  up  by  the  moonlight.  The  night  voices  of  the  forest 
sounded  more  clearly  than  ever  in  the  windless  air.  When, 
as  sometimes  happens  even  in  a  dead  calm,  a  tree  on  the 
hill  fell  with  a  thundering  sound,  awakening  echoes  along 
the  river,  he  grasped  his  rifle  and  started  to  his  feet,  as 
though  the  Shawnees  had  come  back  to  attack.  Then  he 
arose  and  wandered  off  along  the  river  bank  till  the  keen 
ness  of  his  nerves  was  dulled,  and  so  back  to  camp,  where 
he  lay  down  again  and  slept  a  dreamless  sleep  until 
morning. 


24  THE   LATIMERS. 

CHAPTEE  IV. 

A  BEVENUE  PAELEY  AT  INDIAN  KOCKS. 

No  matter  how  ill  one  may  sleep  in  camp  he  is  likely  to 
be  astir  betimes  in  the  morning.  The  early  sunlight  beats 
freely  upon  his  unshielded  face,  and  the  hour  seems  so 
much  later  than  it  really  is,  that  one  is  beguiled  to  rise  up. 
Then,  all  living  things  in  nature  are  aroused  by  daylight, 
and,  athrob  with  life,  renewed  by  sleep,  and  exultant  at  a 
new-come  day,  fill  the  forest  with  their  various  clamor. 
Thus  John  Latimer,  despite  his  disturbed  slumbers,  was 
up  with  the  sun.  A  thin  mist  overhung  the  river  and  hills, 
which  the  sunbeams  rapidly  teased  away,  but  the  day  prom 
ised  to  be  fair  and  warm. 

The  youth  walked  over  the  rocky  bed  which  the 
drought  had  uncovered,  to  the  spot  wher •-  the  Indian  carv 
ings  are  found.  For  a  long  distance  up  and  down  stream 
the  channel,  at  full  stage  of  water,  overruns  a  flat  and 
nearly  unbroken  surface  of  rock  which  juts  out  from  be 
neath  the  bank.  AYhere  it  breaks  off  in  midriver,  or  dips 
downward,  there  the  summer  channel  runs.  For  many 
yards,  between  the  island,  now  known  as  Georgetown 
Island,  and  at  the  point  where  our  party  were  encamped, 
the  rocky  surface  is  covered  with  signs  and  figures  of  vari 
ous  sorts,  done  by  Indians  no  one  knows  when,  but  doubt 
less  long  before  the  date  of  this  story.  Hence  the  place  is 
known  far  and  near  as  "Indian  Kocks." 

There  are  images  of  braves  with  their  scalp  locks,  and 
with  totems  hanging  around  their  necks;  trees  and 
branches,  fishes  and  birds,  turtles,  alligators  and  horses, 
beavers  and  squirrels,  and  pelts  and  tracks  of  animals,  all 
done  in  that  sketchy  outline  which  characterizes  the  draw 
ings  of  children  and  the  hieroglyphs  of  rude  civilization. 
There  are  carved  human  footprints  of  a  bigness  that  might 
bespeak  them  modeled  from  the  famous  Wyandot  chief 
Bigfoot  himself;  but  all  apparently  of  natural  size  and 
shape,  as  though  the  outline  had  been  made  by  scribing 
round  a  real  foot.  These  figures  are  cut  in  the  hard  lime 
stone  rock  with  some  rude  tool,  leaving  gutters  from  a 
quarter  to  a  half  inch  deep  and  wide.  The  fret  of  the  run- 


THE    LATIMERS.  25 

ning  waters  and  grinding  of  ice  have  somewhat  smoothed 
down  the  outlines;  but  there  they  are  to  this  day,  as  plainly 
to  be  seen  at  low  water  as  when  John  Latimer  viewed  them 
a  hundred  years  ago. 

Having  made  sketches  of  a  number  of  these  figures  in 
his  note-book,  for  being  in  training  for  a  land  surveyor  he 
had  some  skill  in  drawing,  John  joined  his  companions  who 
were  enjoying  a  pipe  after  breakfast.  His  questions  con 
cerning  the  rock  pictures  brought  small  satisfaction.  His 
father  knew  little,  and  Panther  would  say  little  about 
them.  However,  he  learned  that  they  were  held  in  rever 
ence  by  the  Mingoes  as  medicine  marks,  and  the  spot  was 
looked  upon  as  somehow  sacred  to  the  Great  Spirit.  They 
were  chary  of  the  place  themselves,  and  liked  not  to  see  it 
intruded  upon  by  others. 

"Come/7  said  Panther,  plainly  anxious  to  avoid  further 
question.  "Let  us  find  the  medicine  oil.  The  growing 
sun  will  drink  it  up,  and  the  Red  Axe  says  his  brothers  will 
need  it  much  when  they  go  upon  the  warpath  against  their 
Great  Father  and  Chief,  Washington.  Panther  does  not 
understand;  but  the  Red  Axe  is  wiser  than  he  in  white 
men's  ways,  and  that  is  enough  for  Panther!  Let  us  go." 

This  remark,  seemingly  dropped  carelessly  by  the  In 
dian,  stirred  the  white  men  powerfully.  An  eager  glance 
passed  between  father  and  son;  from  the  one  of  question 
ing,  as  though  to  read  the  youth's  mind  from  the  play  of 
his  features;  from  the  other  of  surprise,  followed  by  a  pass 
ing  flush  of  indignation,  that  instantly  yielded  before  an 
expression  of  pain.  But  whatever  thoughts  were  seething 
in  the  white  men's  minds,  they  bosomed  up  their  counsel 
and  taking  horn  canteens  and  earthen  bottles,  the  party 
walked  down  stream  to  the  mouth  of  Little  Beaver.  They 
entered  the  channel  of  the  creek  and  picked  their  way 
through  the  ravine  by  which  it  debouches  into  the  Ohio, 
without  wetting  their  moccasins.  Here  and  there,  in  pock 
ets  and  holes  and  shallow  pans  in  the  rocky  channel,  where 
the  water  had  been  left  by  the  retiring  stream  the  youth 
noted  an  unctuous  floatage,  which  at  times,  in  the  ruffling 
wind  and  sunlight,  flashed  out  all  the  colors  of  the  rain 
bow. 

"What  have  we  here,  Panther?"  John  asked.  "I  have 
seen  it  afore.  I  trow,  but  never  thought  to  give  close  heed 
to  it." 


26  THE    LATIMERS. 

Panther  stopped,  and  laughing  softly  made  answer. 
"This  is  what  we  seek.  Young  Oak  has  found  the  Mingoes' 
secret.  This  is  the  Indian  oil.  We  will  gather  it." 

So  saying,  he  took  from  his  belt  three  mussel  shells 
which  he  had  plucked  from  the  river  sand,  gave  one  to  each 
of  his  companions,  and  opening  a  cruse  proceeded  to  skim 
the  oily  scum  and  place  it  therein.  The  others  joined  him 
in  the  work  which  was  wearisome  and  needed  dainty  hand 
ling.  It  was  well  towards  noon  before  their  vessels  were 
filled,  and  they  turned  homeward. 

"Now,  Panther,^  said  John,  "tell  me  what  you  know  of 
this  Indian  oil.  Whence  comes  it?" 

"It  is  the  gift  of  Manitou.  Does  oil  drop  from  the 
clouds?  Does  it  gush  from  the  earth  or  rock?  Our  wise 
men  have  not  so  found  it.  We  have  sought  springs  of  oil 
along  many  streams,  but  have  not  found  them.  The  red 
man  and  the  wild  deer  know  the  salt  licks.  We  have  heard 
of  the  endless  lake,  the  great  sea  whose  waters  are  filled 
with  salt;  and  Red  Axe  says  that  white  men  get  it  by  boiling 
the  water  away.  Salt  in  water  is  the  gift  of  the  Great 
Spirit.  Why  should  he  net  also  put  oil  in  the  water  for  the 
Indian?" 

"But  when  did  the  Indians  discover  it?  And  to  what 
use  do  you  put  it?"  asked  John. 

"The  Mingoes  have  always  known  the  water  oil.  Their 
medicine  men  showed  our  fathers  how  to  use  it  for  wounds 
and  hurts  and  sore  bones  and  aches  which  come  with  damp 
and  frost  and  with  old  age." 

"Do  you  drink  it?    Is  it  good  for  fevers ?" 

"Neither;  we  pour  it  upon  wounds;  we  rub  it  over  the 
joints.  It  loves  the  air,  and  will  glide  quickly  into  its 
bosom  if  the  bottle  is  not  shut.  It  hates  the  fire,  and 
rushes  from  it  with  angry  cry  and  flash  like  powder." 

"When  do  you  usually  find  it  on  the  water?" 

"When  the  Manitou  walks  along  the  streams  he  leaves 
the  healing  oil  behind  him.  He  comes  when  he  will,  but 
we  find  the  oil  in  the  summer  when  the  waters  are  low. 
Our  fathers  tell  us  of  a  time  when  the  Little  Beaver  was  cov 
ered  with  it,  and  it  flowed  into  the  Ohio  and  spread  far 
down  the  stream.  Then  the  Manitou  fought  with  the  Evil 
Spirit.  The  heavens  grew  black  with  thunder  clouds. 
The  lightnings  fell  upon  the  creek  and  it  kindled  into 
liame  and  ran  burning  to  the  river,  and  the  river  was  afire 


THE    LATIMERS.  27 

and  rolled  burning  to  Yellow  Creek.  The  bravest  war 
riors  trembled,  for  they  thought  the  waters  were  burning 
up  and  the  Ohio  would  burn,  too.  The  medicine  men  said 
the  Great  Spirit  was  angry  with  the  Mingoes.  But  the  fire 
went  out;  the  storm  passed;  the  sun  shone  again,  and  our 
wise  men  said  it  was  the  water  oil!  Panther  knows  no 
more.  It  is  enough!  The  Mingo  has  his  secrets;  the  Ked 
Axe  has  his;  the  Young  Oak,  maybe,  has  his.  Very  good! 
The  Manitou  has  secrets  too.  He  opens  not  all  his  counsel 
to  the  red  man  or  the  white.  Some  time  He  may  tell;  let 
us  wait!'7 

Their  vessels  were  at  last  painfully  filled,  and  the  trio 
returned  to  camp.  After  the  noon  meal,  Luke  and  John 
Latimer  were  left  alone  in  camp,  while  Panther  went  into 
the  woods  for  game.  The  father  sat  in  the  shade  of  the 
great  walnut  tree  meditatively  smoking  his  pipe.  The  son 
seated  near  by  was  scraping  a  cow's  horn  with  a  scale  of 
broken  flint,  making  a  new  powder  horn.  The  Indian's  quo 
tation  of  Luke's  allusion  to  the  revenue  troubles  then  dis 
turbing  the  frontier,  rankled  in  John's  mind.  He  knew 
that  his  father  had  taken  up  the  popular  view  with  warm 
favor,  and  had  cast  himself  into  the  agitation  with  an  in 
tensity  and  prejudice  characteristic  of  his  strong  nature. 
His  business  as  a  freighter,  chiefly  up  and  across  the 
Monongahela,  brought  him  closely  in  contact  with  many  of 
those  most  interested  in  illicit  distilling,  and  this  had  its 
weight  in  giving  bitterness  to  his  opinions.  But  John  had 
never  imagined  that  affairs  had  gone  or  could  go  to  the 
length  of  active,  much  less  armed,  opposition  to  the  Gov 
ernment. 

His  own  views  were  not  matured;  but  as  a  pupil  of 
Doctor  John  McMillan,  the  principal  of  the  famous  Log 
Academy  which  afterwards  grew  into  Jefferson  College,  he 
had  heard  the  Government  side  of  the  question.  The  doc 
tor  and  the  clergy  generally  (who  were  chiefly  Presby 
terians)  were  opposed  to  insurrectionary  movements  and  to 
all  violation  of  law.  They  knew  that  their  flocks  would  be 
helpless  against  the  attacks  of  the  Republic's  troops  led  by 
their  President,  the  renowned  General  Washington.  Thus, 
both  the  popular  sympathies  and  conservative  instincts 
of  their  order  led  them  to  oppose  rebellion.  A  son  who 
has  the  true  filial  feeling  must  always  regret  to  find  himself 
opposed  to  the  views  and  wishes  of  his  parent.  It  was 


28  THE    LATIMERS. 

therefore  with  great  concern  that  John  ventured  to  broach 
the  matter  that  filled  his  thoughts.  But  the  way  was  made 
somewhat  easier  by  the  fact  that  Luke  Latimer  was  very 
fond  of  his  boy,  and  from  the  time  he  was  a  little  chit  de 
lighted  to  have  him  potter  about  his  heels,  and  peer  and 
mouse  into  his  work,  and  quiz  him  with  all  manner  of  ques 
tions.  So  John  had  grown  up  feeling  the  reins  of  authority 
wound  about  and  eased  with  the  spirit  of  comradeship. 

"Father,"  John  began,  "I've  been  thinking  a  good  deal 
of  what  Panther  said  this  morning  just  before  we  started 
for  the  Indian  oil."  He  held  up  to  the  sunlight  the  powder 
horn  on  which  he  wrought,  and  peering  through  it  to  se3 
if  it  were  yet  worn  thin  enough,  glanced  sidewise  upon  his 
father's  face.  Luke  smoked  on  thoughtfully  and  only  said: 

"Well,  John?" 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  understand  his  meaning,"  and 
John  resumed  his  work  of  scraping  dainty  curls  of  shaving 
from  the  cow's  horn.  "But  if  I  did,  I  hope  he  has  misun 
derstood  you.  I  can't  think  matters  have  gone  so  far  that 
you  are  ready  to  join  a  conspiracy  against  your  old  com 
mander,  our  noble  President.  You  served  under  him  as  a 
pioneer  during  most  of  the  Revolution.  You  were  one  of 
the  warmest  advocates  of  the  Constitution,  and  voted 
heartily  for  the  first  President.  I  am  loath  to  think  you 
could  be  led  into  armed  opposition  to  the  laws." 

"Well,  son,"  said  Luke,  tapping  the  ashes  from  his  pipe, 
"I'd  as  lief  settle  this  matter  betwixt  us  now  as  later.  You're 
'quite  right  to  think  that  I  honor  an'  love  the  great  com 
mander;  an'  it's  sore  agin  the  grit,  I'll  allow,  to  oppose 
aught  he  favors.  But  he's  badly  advised  about  our  affairs 
here  in  the  West;  an'  what  betwixt  Secretary  Hamilton 
an'  the  Congress,  we're  a'most  worse  off  nor  under  Great 
Britain.  Now,  I'm  not  for  layin'  down  an'  lettin'  Philadel- 
phy  Quakers  an'  Gover'ment  tax  gatherers  eat  us  up  soul 
an'  substance  without  opposition." 

"But,  father,  doesn't  our  Constitution  give  the  Gov 
ernment  the  right  to  levy  revenue  taxes?  You  voted  for 
that,  didn't  you?" 

"Ay;  but  to  take  your  last  quistion  first;  I  al'ays  op 
posed  the  State  system  of  axcise  laws,  as  you  well  know, 
an'  so  did  all  this  western  country.  We  niver  counted  on 
Congress  takin'  up  the  old  an'  hateful  policy  of  the  Colo 
nial  Legislatur'  an'  carryin'  it  furder  nor  the  Colony  iver 


THE    LATIMERS.  29 

did,  or  you  may  be  sure  we  wouldn't  'a  voted  for  the  Con 
stitution.  Besides,  it's  not  us  that's  a-violatin'  the  Con 
stitution,  but  the  Ravenue  officers.  Jist  look  at  it!  The 
Constitution  says  the  taxes  shall  be  uniform  throughout 
the  States.  But  here  in  West  Pennsylvania  our  stillers 
have  to  pay  as  much  tax  for  two  shillings  worth  of  the  best 
Monongahela  whuskey,  as  the  stillers  down  in  Philadelphy 
or  Jarsey  pay  for  four  shillin's  worth.  Thar!  they've 
doubled  the  rate  on  us  who  are  far  less  able  for  til  stand  it." 

"I  admit  that  seems  unjust,  father.  But  what  other 
plan  could  be  taken?  It  wouldn't  do  to  have  a  different 
scale  of  prices  for  every  town  and  county,  and  slide  it  up 
and  down  to  meet  every  trader's  or  distiller's  ideas  of  values. 
That  would  indeed  be  anything  but  uniform.  Of  course, 
it's  unfortunate  for  us;  but  that's  one  of  the  penalties  of  our 
western  isolation  which  pinches  us  in  a  good  many  ways." 

"Then  let  'em  git  the  government  tax  by  some  system 
that'll  not  bear  so  onek'ally  on  us.  Besides,  we're  informed 
that  they  can't  an'  don't  collec'  these  ravenues  elsewhere. 
Other  States  dodge  aven  the  duty  on  imported  spirits  an' 
wines.  Now,  I  wouldn't  mind  taxes  on  fureign  liquors. 
It's  true,  the  axcise  laws  in  the  auld  country  were  niver 
pop'lar  among  our  folk,  an'  smugglin'  was  not  thought 
much  of  a  sin.  But  aven  thar  they  laid  most  stress  on  fur 
eign  liquors,  an'  no  man  thought  it  harm  to  make  a  lettle 
for  himself  an'  neighbors. 

"For  my  part,  I  spurn  the  whole  policy  as  onjust  an' 
oppressive.  Look  'e  here,  Jack,  if  rye  can't  be  made  intil 
whuskey  'ithout  a  license,  no  more  can  hide  be  made  intil 
boots,  or  buckskin  intil  breeches,  or  wool  intil  a  hat,  'ithout 
speecial  permission  from  the  Gover'ment.  If  taxed  for  one 
why  not  for  t'other?  If  we  yield  the  right  in  one,  why  not 
in  t'other?  Why,  lad,  that  'ud  be  warse  tyranny  nor  Eng 
land  iver  helt  over  us.  The  right  to  tax  a  penny  gives  the 
right  for  til  tax  a  pound.  The  right  to  license  spirits  gives 
the  right  for  til  license  ivery  kind  of  home  produce;  an'  by 
an'  by  we'll  be  bound  to  have  license  for  farmin'  an'  flat 
boatin',  an'  cattle  breedin',  and  shootin'  and  trappin'. 
Would  you  favor  that  state  of  things,  now?  Nay!  We'd 
better  take  the  bull  by  the  horns  at  wanct,  ere  he  toss  an' 
gore  us  altogither." 

"But,  father,"  remonstrated  John,  "the  Government 
can't  be  supported  without  some  kind  of  tax.  Every  civil- 


30  THE    LATIMERS. 

ized  nation  has  and  always  has  had  some  form  of  taxes.  No 
doubt  the  taxes  have  often  been  unwise,  oppressive  and  un 
equal;  but  must  we  not  after  all  leave  this  to  the  Govern 
ment  to  determine?  And  what  article  can  be  taxed  to 
better  advantage  than  liquor?  Have  we  a  right  to  make 
armed  opposition  because  the  tax  falls  hard  on  us?  You 
know  what  our  Saviour  said:  'Bender  unto  CaBsar  the 
things  that  are  Caasar's.'  That's  good  civil  policy  as  well 
as  true  religion." 

"Ay,  ay,  lad!  Thar  ye  go  with  the  same  auld  song  the 
Tories  sung  afore  the  Revolution.  We'd  niver  'a  gotten 
indepandence  if  we'd  'a-listened  til  it  then;  an'  we'll  lose 
the  fruits  of  liberty  if  we  listen  til  't  now.  Not  but  ther's 
justice  an'  right  in't  if  looked  at  in  the  right  way.  Now, 
I'm  for  payin'  fair  an'  raisonable  tax.  Let  'em  kape  to  the 
axcise  of  fureign  spirits,  an'  I'll  no  turn  a  hand  agin  'em. 
But  give  us  a  free  f ut  in  home  'stillin' ! 

"Why,  John,  it's  a  quistion  of  bread  an'  butter,  an'  that 
you  know  right  well.  Thar's  rye,  our  best  crop,  whar's  the 
market  for  it,  aither  at  home  or  abroad?  None;  none  at 
all!  What's  the  good  of  our  rich  soil  an'  heavy  crops  when 
an  extra  barrow  load  'ill  glut  the  market?  Ef  we're  to  git 
aught  for  it  we  mus'  put  it  intil  spirits.  Ther's  posityvely 
nothin'  for  the  frontier  folk  to  live  by  but  farmin'  and 
huntin',  onless  you  give  us  lave  to  do  our  own  'stillin'.  It's 
got  so  bad  that  I've  h'ard  a  Pittsburg  trader  say  he'd  as 
lief  see  a  load  of  manure  a-comin'  to  him  for  barter  as  a 
load  of  wheat.  Our  crops  lie  in  our  bins,  or  clog  the 
trader's  stores.  You  know  how  hard  it  is  for  to  git  our 
grain  ground,  an'  then  to  run  flour  to  New  Orleans  or  down 
the  river  for  a  market.  Packin'  grain  or  flour  East  is  out 
of  the  quistion.  Our  pack  horses  can  carry  the  amount  of 
twenty-four  bushels  in  high  wines  for  ivery  four  of  grain, 
an'  in  that  shape  alone  can  we  git  a  market  an'  livin' 
profits.  It's  a  matter  of  life  or  death  with  us,  boy,  I  tell  ye! 

"Here's  the  western  countries  full  of  Revolutionary 
vet'rans.  After  all  the  perils  an'  sufferin's  of  the  long  war 
agin  the  mother  country,  they  found  themselves  'ithout  a 
fardin'  axcep'  Continental  currency  that's  only  good  for  to 
light  one's  pipe  with.  They  came  out  here  for  a  home.  It 
was  a  forlorn  hope,  but  they  came.  They  claired  up  the 
forests,  fought  snakes,  an'  wild  bastes  an'  wilder  savages. 
An'  now  whan  the'r  farms  are  claired  up  an'  th're's  some 


THE   LATIMERS.  31 

chanct  for  to  make  a  living  along  comes  the  Gov'ment  that 
we've  created,  an'  wants  to  squaze  from  us  an'  our  famblies 
the  lettle  that  we  have.  Tush,  lad!  It  makes  one's  blood 
boil  to  think  of  the  cruelty  an'  injustice  on't." 

"But,  father,"  said  John,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "you 
forget,  don't  you,  that  the  Government  doesn't  forbid  us  to 
distill  ?  It  only  says  that  we're  to  enter  our  stills  for  license 
and  pay  tax  on  the  product.  Where's  the  great  hardship  of 
that?" 

"Well,  many  of  'em  has  done  it,  hard  as  the  conditions 
air.  Some  of  'em  kin  afford  to  do  it.  Thar's  whar  the  shoe 
pinches;  the  poor  man  can't  afford  to  pay,  so  heavy  a  per 
cent  on  his  produc'.  It's  not  only  the  accessive  axcise  tax 
but  the  sort  of  payment  demanded.  The  Inspector,  for 
sooth,  '11  take  nothin'  but  specie!  Specie?  Whar  11  you 
find  it  in  these  settlemints?  We've  got  to  barter  for  our 
trader's  goods.  Nobody  pays  coin  for  our  stuff,  or  axpec's 
it.  Peltries  an'  grain,  ginseng  and  snake  root,  an'  what 
not,  are  the  coin  of  this  country.  The  very  best,  most 
portable,  salable  an'  profitable  of  our  products  is  spirits 
distilled  from  our  own  grain.  Lord  help  you,  lad,  when 
the  farmer  has  paid  his  stiller's  charges,  an'  the  big  dis 
count  for  specie,  an'  the  axcise  tax,  th're's  nothin'  left  for 
wife  an'  weans.  No,  John,  it's  an  intolerable  condition, 
an'  th're's  nothin'  for  it  but  to  stand  up  like  men,  an'  let 
the  Gover'ment  know  that  our  lawful  rights  must  be  re- 
spicted,  or  we'll  know  the  rayson  why." 

"But,  father,  admit  that  our  people  labor  under  great 
wrongs,  is  it  wise  or  right  to  resort  to  force?  Two  wrongs 
never  made  a  right;  and  to  attack  the  Government  that 
you  men  won  by  your  valor  and  sacrifice,  and  built  up  your 
selves,  seems  to  be  a  great  wrong.  To  be  sure,  one  may 
oppose  bad  policies;  but  there's  a  right  and  a  wrong  sort  of 
opposition.  Our  laws  put  the  power  in  the  people's  hands, 
and  if  our  own  representatives  make  oppressive  laws,  we 
must  submit,  for  all  I  can  see,  until  we  send  men  who  will 
undo  the  evil  by  legal  and  constitutional  methods. 

"We've  just  embarked  on  the  experiment  of  a  Republic. 
The  oppressed  of  all  nations  are  watching  us  with  anxious 
interest.  It  would  be  a  blow  at  the  heart  of  human  rights 
if  we  struck  down  our  Government,  or  weakened  the 
world's  confidence  in  our  stability.  Father,  you've  suffered 
much,  so  have  all  the  old  veterans,  for  the  rights  of  man; 


32  THE   LATIMERS. 

can't  you  suffer  a  little  longer?  Be  sure  all  will  be  righted 
at  last.  It  must  be  so.  President  Washington  will  not  see 
us  oppressed,  if  we  can  get  the  facts  before  him.  Let  us 
pause  before  we  mar  the  noble  work  of  so  many  years  of 
bloodshed  and  toil." 

The  youth  had  risen  in  the  flow  of  his  earnest  talk,  and 
stood  facing  his  father  as  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  slanted 
through  the  treetops,  and  glowed  with  ruddy  glory  on  the 
smooth  river.  The  father  looked  up  with  an  expression 
of  mingled  admiration  and  dissent,  then  answered: 

"Well  said,  John;  well  said,  I  must  allow  that.  But 
here  ag'in  theh^s  two  sides  to  the  quistion.  Government's 
a  matter  of  give  an'  take.  If  we  have  duties,  so  have  our 
rulers.  Now,  look  ye!  The  administration  has  left  us  to 
fight  our  own  battles  with  the  Indians  an'  the  cussed  Brit 
ish,  to  boot.  The  Western  posts  've  been"  left  in  possession 
of  the  English  contrairy  to  treaty,  an'  they're  still  behint 
most  of  the  diviltry  a-goin'  on  along  the  border.  Why 
don't  the  Gover'ment  put  a  stop  to  that?" 

"The  best  answer,"  John  replied,  "is  the  military  camp 
now  forming  at  Pittsburg  under  Gen.  Wayne.  Then, 
there  were  the  expeditions  of  Harmer  and  St.  Clair.  Sure, 
it's  not  quite  right  to  say  that  the  administration  has  done 
nothing  for  the  frontier." 

"Maybe  not,"  answered  Luke.  "But  as  to  Harmar's  an' 
St.  Glair's  axpedeetions,  they  amounted  to  less  nor  nothin'; 
we  were  warse  off  after  nor  arfore  'em.  They  only  proved 
how  grudgin'  an'  scant  were  the  efforts  made  for  our 
safety.  We  fared  about  as  well  under  Broadbrim  rule. 
What's  the  differ  atween  a  republican  Gover'ment  that 
can't  help  us,  an'  a  lot  o'  white-livered  Quakers  who 
won't?" 

"But,  Wayne,  father!  There's  Gen.  Wayne's  expedition 
now  forming!  The  administration  is  surely  trying- 


"Ay,  lad,"  interrupted  the  elder  Latimer.  "Thar's  the 
Wayne  axpedeetion!  An'  what  o'  that?  It  drags  wearily 
enough  along.  Wayne  is  crossed  an'  thwarted  at  ivYy 
hand,  an'  fumes  an'  frets,  an'  betwixt  you  an'  me  can  curse 
the  Gover'ment  as  roundly  as  annyone.  Whar's  his  army? 
Why,  he'll  be  two  or  three  years  more,  at  this  rate,  in  git- 
tin'  together  enough  troops  for  til  make  a  respictable 
showin'  aven.  What  do  the  other  States  care  for  us? 
Lettle,  mighty  lettle,  or  they'd  rally  to  the  frontier,  an' 


THE    LATIMERS.  33 

vvanct  for  all  help  us  to  be  quit  of  our  savage  foes.  Mind 
what  I  say,  though  I'm  nayther  prophet  nor  son  of  a 
prophet,  if  Wayne's  axpedeetion  is  iver  a  success  at  all,  an' 
troops  or  volunteers  from  other  States.  Now,  Jack,  my  son, 
what  sort  of  a  spectackle  is  that  for  the  warld?  It  warks 
both  ways,  don't  you  see?  An'  if  a  Republic  can't  an' 
won't  defend  its  sufferin'  an'  assailed  borders,  mayhap 
men  '11  see  small  use  for  't.  I'm  not  sure  but  the  rights  of 
man'  '11  be  better  sarved  by  makin'  a  new  State  out  of  West 
ern  Pennsylvany  an'  Virginy,  an'  mayhap  even  a  Western 
Republic—" 

"Stop,  father!  stop  there!"  cried  John.  "There's  no 
objection  to  the  new  State  if  it  can  be  brought  about  le 
gally.  But  that  last  thought  is  rank  treason.  Don't  think 
of  it  further,  for  God's  sake,  don't!  Ay,  and  for  your  own! 
For,  father,  depend  on  it,  though  the  States  may  be  back 
ward  in  sending  aid  to  suppress  the  Indians,  if  the  integ 
rity  of  the  Republic  be  once  assailed  they  will  rally  to  a 
man.  And  then  what  chance  will  there  be  for  us?  Better 
endure  the  evils  we  have  than  fly  to  others  that  we  know 
not  of.  Or,  as  the  Good  Book  says:  'The  prudent  man 
forseeth  the  evil  and  hideth  himself."3 

"Well,  lad,  thank  you  annyhow  for  sparin'  me  the  tail 
eend  of  that  Scriptur'  quotation  But  thar  comes  Panther, 
an'  it's  no'  becomin'  that  he  should  see  us  aven  in  fri'ndly 
controvarsy.  So  we'll  e'en  drop  the  subjec'  an'  prepare  for 
rest." 


CHAPTER  V. 

NEW  ACQUAINTANCES  AND  AN  OLD  STOKY. 

John  Latimer  sat  at  the  Fort  Pitt  landing  reading  a 
pocket  edition  of  Virgil,  a  gift  from  his  instructor  and 
pastor,  Dr.  John  McMillan,  and  waiting  for  business. 

"Good  morning,  young  man!"  said  a  military  person 
who  stepped  upon  the  keel  boat  which  lay  with  its  nose 
against  the  shore  lazily  lifting  with  the  rippling  of  the 
stream.  John  rose  from  his  rustic  spruce-wood  camp  stool, 
and  returned  the  greeting  with  a  salute  something  more 
3 


S4  THE   LATIMERS. 

respectful  than  wont,  as  he  recognized  Gen.  Neville,  the 
chief  revenue  officer  for  the  Western  District  of  the  United 
States.  He  was  a  tall,  stoutly-built  man,  of  seventy  years 
or  thereabout,  whose  swart  closely-shaven  face  was  domi 
nated  by  large  dark  eyes  well  parted  by  a  Roman  nose  with 
a  bare  suggestion  of  an  upward  curve  at  the  tip.  A  strong 
face,  one  would  say,  with  that  cast  which  the  habit  of 
authority  gives.  His  bearing;  self-poised  and  confident 
without  being  aggressive,  bespoke  gentle  breeding;  and  with 
this  his  dress  comported,  being  a  cross  between  the  cos 
tume  of  a  Continental  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  with  a  mod 
ifying  slash  of  frontier  freedom. 

The  youth  noted  these  points,  for  in  the  years  just  suc 
ceeding  the  Revolution  the  distinctions  between  the  aris 
tocracy  and  the  commonality,  which  pervaded  the  Colonial 
period,  were  not  wholly  done  away.  At  the  same  time  he 
was  conscious  that  he  also  was  the  subject  of  a  close  scru 
tiny,  which,  though  he  would  have  been  the  last  to  think 
it,  he  could  well  bear.  John  Latimer  stood  six  feet  one 
inch  in  his  moccasins.  His  deerskin  breeches  were  buckled 
at  the  knees  over  ribbed  home-knit  hose.  A  blue  home 
spun  jerkin,  ornamented  with  metal  buttons  and  topped 
with  mink  fur,  hung  loosely  over  his  linsey  shirt  on  whose 
bosom  and  broad  collar  his  mother  had  wrought  braiding. 
A  well-turned  head,  fairly  posed  upon  his  neck,  was 
crowned  with  curly  chestnut  hair.  Clear  blue  eyes,  honest, 
true  and  thoughtful,  looked  from  beneath  a  forehead  that 
showed  white,  where  his  cap  had  sat,  against  the  ruddy 
bronze  of  his  sunburnt  cheeks.  There  he  stood,  strong, 
manly,  a  bit  awkward  perhaps  just  then,  though  graceful 
as  a  wild  creature  when  in  action;  his  broad  chest  tapering 
down  to  as  proper  a  pair  of  legs  (his  mother  said)  as  ever 
bore  breeks.  He  could  keep  a  coin  at  once  between  thighs, 
knees  and  ankles,  the  ideal  test  of  trim  legs  in  those  days. 

"Well,  young  man?"  said  the  Inspector. 

"Well,  sir?"  said  John,  with  a  slight  twinkle  in  his  eyes 
that  showed  him  aware  of  the  mutual  inspection,  and 
amused  thereat.  "Can  I  serve  you  this  morning?" 

"I  am  looking  for  a  light-draft  keel  boat  to  take  me 
and  my  niece  as  far  down  the  river  as  Wheeling  and  back, 
and  have  been  referred  to  Luke  Latimer.  You  are  not  he?" 

"His  son,  sir;  but  I  can  speak  for  him." 

"Ah!    I  want  passage  simply,  with  a  little  camping  for 


THE   LATIMERS.  35 

the  lady  and  hunting  for  myself  by  the  way,  with  a  stop 
or  two  between  whiles.  My  niece  wishes  to  see  the  river 
scenery  and  have  a  taste  of  frontier  life.  Could  you  take 
us,  and  what  could  you  do  for  us?" 

"We  certainly  could  take  you"  answered  John,  "for  you 
are  doubtless  used  to  campaigning;  but  I  cannot  speak  so 
surely  for  the  lady.  AYe  have  but  rough  accommodation, 
sir,  as  you  see;  only  a  keel  boat  built  for  ferriage,  for  light 
freighting  and  for  emigrants." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  see!  But  the  lady  will  do  well  enough,  I 
dare  say,  for  a  little  while.  Now,  here  is  a  bit  of  a  cabin  that 
might  serve,  I  think,  on  a  pinch."  He  pointed  to  a  rustic 
booth  thatched  with  leafy  wattles  which  John  had. built  in 
the  bow,  wherein  he  might  loiter  and  read  while  awaiting 
custom,  and  also  sleep  at  nights.  The  floor  was  covered 
with  bearskins,  and  on  the  forked  props  hung  his  rifle,  pow 
der  horn,  leggings  and  hunting  shirt. 

"To  be  sure,"  resumed  the  General,  "there's  nothing 
luxurious  here,  but  it's  clean,  at  least." 

Whereat  John  flushed,  and  said  rather  testily,  "I 
should  hope  so,  sir!" 

"Nevertheless,"  remarked  the  General,  "that's  not  what 
one  can  say  of  some  of  the  boats  I  have  looked  at.  When 
can  you  leave  ?" 

"At  once/' 

"Good!  Then  I'll  take  the  boat  for  the  trip;  for  a  week 
at  least,  to  leave  this  afternoon  promptly  at  five  o'clock; 
and  here  is  your  earnest  money."  He  gave  John  a  gold 
coin,  and  having  arranged  the  terms  and  particulars  of  the 
journey,  and  bidden  John  wait  on  board  for  the  stores  and 
tent  which  he  would  promptly  send,  the  Inspector  gave  a 
stately  good  morning,  and  retired. 

Packages  of  provisions  from  the  trader  were  alreadv 
coming  in  when  Luke  Latimer  arrived.  John  gave  him  tin 
gold  coin  with  well-pleased  countenance,  looking  for  ap 
plause  when  he  told  of  the  favorable  contract  he  had  made. 
But  he  was  grieved  to  see  Luke  flush  up  angrily  at  the 
name  of  Gen.  Neville,  and  fling  the  coin  indignantly  upon 
deck.  Knowing  his  father's  keenness  for  business  the 
youth  felt  that  he  had  indeed  made  a  sore  mistake,  though 
marvelling  to  know  wherein. 

"What,  my  son,"  cried  Luke,  "would  you  help  that 
inemy  of  your  kin  an'  people  to  plot  agin  our  p'ace?  It 


36  THE   LATIMEBS. 

galls  and  grieves  me  sore  that  you  've  done  this.  I'd  as  lief 
take  a  cargo  of  rattlers  as  that  man  Neville.  What'll  our 
fri'nds  say  to  this?  They'll  be  a-callin'  us  informers  an' 
revenue  spies,  I  misdoubt.  Is  that  all  your  edication's 
worth,  John,  fer  to  let  this  rank  traitor  hoodwink  you  so? 
Fie,  fie!" 

John  waited  the  first  outburst  of  temper  before  reply 
ing,  though  his  cheeks  burned  at  the  slight.  Then,  as 
beseemed  a  son,  he  answered  quietly:  "Father,  you  do  me 
injustice.  How  could  I  know  you  would  scorn  the  best- 
paid  job  we've  had  for  many  a  day?  What  right  had  I  to 
discriminate  against  anyone  who  asked  our  service?  You 
have  taught  me  that  business  is  no  respecter  of  persons. 
Besides,  what  reason  could  I  give  for  refusal  even  if  I  had 
thought  to  do  so  ?  The  gentleman  plainly  said  that  he  was 
going  principally  on  pleasure,  not  business,  and  for  his 
niece  rather  than  himself.  You  are  the  last  man  to  do  such 
discourtesy  to  a  lady,  father,  and  so  am  I." 

"Ay,  ay!"  rejoined  Luke,  shaken  much  in  mind,  but 
testy  still.  "You  can  argy  fine;  specially  on  the  side  of  the 
axcise  officers.  The  old  doctor  has  dinged  that  intil  you 
bravely,  along  with  his  Latin  an'  mathematics.  But  it  ill 
behooves  to  flout  your  treason  in  your  father's  face." 

"Father!"  cried  John,"  "this  is  too  much!  Have  I  ever 
failed  in  duty  to  you?  But — let  us  bandy  no  more  words 
about  it.  I  will  be  off  to  Gen.  Neville  and  tell  him  that 
my  father  forbids  the  contract,  and  returns  the  earnest 
money."  So  saying,  he  picked  up  the  coin,  and  turned  to 
leave  the  boat. 

"Stop  a  bit,  John!"  said  Luke,  whose  wrath  had  cooled 
before  his  son's  reverend  carriage  as  much  as  his  cogent 
reasons.  "I  can't  cope  with  your  glib  tongue  in  argymint, 
though  quite  the  same  I  know  it's  all  agee.  But,  let  me 
think!  Ye've  pledged  my  word,  you  say;  an'  what  if  the 
Giner'l  refuses  to  rel'ase  us?  What'll  ye  say  til  him  then, 
lad?" 

"What'll  I  say?  The  truth;  that  Luke  Latimer  keeps 
faith  with  all  men  but  Gen.  Neville.  And  if  he  mislikes 
that,  he  may  make  the  most  of  it." 

"It  won't  do,  my  son,  it  won't  do!  It's  a  sore  pickle 
ye've  got  me  into  by  your  indiscreetion,  bad  cess  til  it!  I 
don't  see  my  way  out;  though  resolved  I  am  that  I'll  niver 
sarve  Giner'l  Neville  myself,  nor  bide  with  him  in  the  same 
boat." 


THE  LATIMERS.  37 

"Well/'  said  John,,  turning  back  from  the  gang  plank, 
"why  should  you  have  aught  to  do  with  the  matter?  Let 
me  take  the  whole  responsibility.  If  I  can't  get  some  one 
to  help  me,  I  can  manage  well  enough  alone  as  far  as 
Indian  Kocks.  There  I  am  sure  to  find  Panther,  who  is 
trapping  now  on  the  Little  Beaver,  and  will  be  at  his  camp 
on  the  Island,  and  will  readily  join  me." 

So  at  last  it  was  agreed.  Luke  dearly  loved  his  son,  and 
liked  not  to  see  him  humbled;  and  he  loved  his  good  busi 
ness  name,  and  would  not  have  it  besmirched,  above  all  by 
one  whom  he  so  roundly  hated  as  the  Inspector.  So  off  he 
set  for  Canonsburg,  promising  to  meet  John  in  a  week 
again,  and  yielding  to  him  all  the  care  and  profit  of  the 
journey.  Thereupon  John  went  eagerly  to  work  righting 
the  boat  for  such  rare  fares  and  freight. 

"Good  mor-r-row,  Jock!"  called  a  cheery  voice  from  the 
bank.  The  voice  issued  from  a  thick-set  figure  clad  in 
homespun  and  leggings,  who  without  more  ado  stalked 
over  the  gang  plank,  followed  by  a  small  dog  of  the  breed 
known  as  fox-terrier. 

"Good  morning,  Andy  Burbeck!"  said  John.  "What 
good  brownie  told  you  that  you  are  just  the  man  I'm  look 
ing  for?" 

"Ay,  it's  ginteel  in  ye  for  to  say  that,  Jock,  ma  b'y;  and 
jist  at  noon  time  whan  A'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear,  not  to 
say  thirsty,  which  Peggy  says  is  my  chrronic  estate.  But 
the  deiPs  not  al'ys  as  black  as  he's  painted,  an'  A'  niver  let 
the  malt  git  above  the  male.  How  are  ye,  lad?"  He  warmly 
shook  the  hand  extended  to  him  and  took  a  seat  in  the 
booth. 

"Ah!  this  is  ilegant  now,  ahfter  long  trudgin'  in  an 
August  sun!  Faith!  a  movin  fut  is  aye  gittin',  tho'  some 
times  it's  only  a  stumped  toe!"  Andy  wiped  his  red  head 
with  a  red  handkerchief,  and  laid  aside  his  hat,  uncovering 
a  shock  of  red  hair  that  stood  up  all  around  his  freckled 
face.  "Sure,  A'm  hearty  glad  to  see  ye  ahfter  yer  trip 
down  the  river.  An'  so  is  Bounce,  ye  see.  Hey,  Bounce?" 
The  dog  had  run  with  glad  cry  and  wagging  tail  to  John 
and  was  curving  his  back  under  his  fondling  hand.  Thus 
questioned,  he  beat  the  floor  with  his  tail,  raised  his  head, 
and  barked. 

"Toe  be  sure  ye  are,  ma  purty!  Was  there  iver  a  plainer 
'yis'  nor  that,  Master  John?  Ah!  a  dog's  a  firmer  frri'nd 


38  THE   LATIMEES. 

nor  some  human  crayters  A'  wot  of.  But  haven't  ye  a  bite 
an'  sup  for  a  starrvin'  neighbor,  Jock?"  Andy  had  a  way 
of  rolling  his  r's  when  somewhat  earnest  or  excited,  and  the 
last  sentence  received  an  especially  unctions  trill. 

"Indeed,  yes.  I  was  about  taking  a  snack  myself;  so 
join  me  and  welcome.  Here's  a  bite  of  cold  venison;  and 
here's  a  loaf  of  home  bread;  and  here's  a  pot  of  wild  honey." 
He  took  the  dishes  as  he  spoke  out  of  a  locker.  "And  there, 
Andy,  is  the  horn  bottle;  but  water  it  well,  old  fellow,  for 
I  want  you  to  keep  a  cool  head,  as  I  have  some  particular 
work  for  you." 

"That  A'  wull,  lad,  an'  obleeged  til  ye.  But  did  ye  iver 
see  me  with  a  hot  head?  Though,  it  looks  red  hot,  A'll 
allow;  an'  Peggy  says  it  flames  out  like  Nebbychadnazar's 
fiery  furnace."  Laughing  at  the  conceit,  he  passed  his  red 
hand  through  his  shocky  poll,  and  proceeded  to  mix  his 
grog.  "Here's  til  yer  health,  Jock,  an'  good  luck  to  the 
Fanny!"  meaning  thereby  not  a  lady  friend  but  the  Lati- 
mer  boat. 

"By  the  way,  Andy,  what  do  you  think  of  the  Fanny 
now?"  asked  John.  "You  see  I've  been  brightening  her  u:> 
a  bit." 

"Ay,  A'm  feared  ye're  gittin'  vain,  John,"  answered 
Andy,  shaking  his  head  with  mock  gravity.  "An'  that  '11 
be  the  ruination  of  a  douce  fine  fallow.  Tak'  care,  lad;  ill 
weeds  wax  well.  Why,  this  is  quite  a  Cleopatry's  barrge, 
an'  not  an  Ohio  keel  -boat!  Ye've  grown  pernickety,  lad, 
sence  ye've  been  among  the  Frenchers  at  New  Orleans. 
Not  but  A'  like  a  dainty  taste  maself;  it's  a  sign  of  good 
blood.  There's  Bounce  an'  Betty,  now!  Bless  yer  heart, 
they're  tidy  as  an  emmet,  an'  as  ch'ice  as  a  gentle  in  their 
bed  an'  board.  They'd  starve  ruther  'n  raven  like  a  mongrel 
cur.  Sure,  A'  call  this  a  reg'lar  lady's  bowerr,  John."  He 
cast  an  approving  eye  around  the  booth,  as  he  mixed 
another  horn  of  grog. 

"I'm  glad  you  like  it,  Andy,  for  to  tell  the  truth,  that's 
just  what  it  is — a  lady's  bower.  And  I  want  you  for  the 
next  week  or  two  to  help  take  care  of  the  lady.  What  say 
you?  Have  you  an  engagement  ahead,  and  will  you  go  with 
me?" 

"No  ingagement,  John,  an'  A'm  agrayable  to  sarve  ye, 
if  all's  fair.  But  what's  in  the  wind?  Have  a  care,  Jock! 
Better  an  impty  house  nor  a  bad  tinant.  Ye  havn't  capit- 


THE   LATIMERS.  39 

oolated  body  an'  soul  to  one  of  thim  French  Papishers, 
hey?  A've  h'ard  they're  reglar  Circes  and  Sirens,  an'  the 
very  divil  giner'ly  with  their  big  black  eyes  an'  winsome 
ways.  But  A'  niver  thought  that  you " 

"Tush,  Andy!"  said  John,  impatiently.  "No  fiddle- 
faddle,  please!  It's  a  pure  matter  of  business.  Listen!" 
He  recited  the  events  of  the  morning,  and  explained  that 
lie  wanted  some  one  to  help  at  the  boat's  poles  and  sweeps, 
and  especially  with  the  cooking.  "You're  a  famous  camp 
caterer,  Andy,  and  I  had  been  thinking  of  you  not  an  hour 
ago,  and  wishing  you  could  help  me  out  of  my  scrape." 

"Jist  so,  lad;  talk  about  the  angels,  ye  know — et  cetery! 
Ma  modesty  forbids  me  to  finish  the  proverb.  Though, 
toe  be  sure,  A'  niver  h'ard  of  an  angel  with  red  hair  an' 
frowsy  baird  an'  freckled  face,  though  they  might  be  warse 
appareled,  A'  trow.  Howiver,  it's  a  bargain,  lad,  an'  A'm 
shipped  on  the  Fanny  for  the  nixt  cruise  as  first  mate,  head 
cook,  seaman  an'  cabin  boy.  Thar's  four  of  us,  John;  and 
Bounce  makes  five.  A  fine  crew,  that,  for  a  river  cruise; 
an'  yourself  the  sixth,  Captain  Jock." 

"I  don't  know  about  Bounce,"  said  John.  "I  misdoubt 
the  General  or  the  lady  might  object  to  a  dog  on  board!" 

"Objic'P  Not  they!  They're  too  good  blood  for  that, 
A'  pledge  ye;  an'  blood  '11  tell  in  sich  matters.  But  if  they 
do,  then  no  Bounce,  no  Burbeck — hey,  boy?  We's  not  be 
parted,  wull  we?"  Taking  the  cue  from  his  master's  tone, 
the  terrier  leaped  into  his  arms  and  laid  his  head  against 
his  bosom.  "There,  master  John,  ye  couldn't  have  the 
heart  to  siperate  us  now,  could  ye?" 

"Plainly  not,  Andy,"  answered  John,  laughing.  "And 
if  I  had,  I  wouldn't  dare  do  it.  But  you  must  keep  Bounce 
out  of  sight  and  hearing  until  we  get  fairly  started." 

"Trust  us  for  that,  lad!  An'  now  A'm  at  your  sarvice. 
What  shall  be  ma  first  duty,  Cap'n  John?"  He  put  him 
self  into  saluting  posture,  and  touched  his  hat  with  mock 
obeisance. 

Andy  had  a  deft  hand,  and  as  he  wrought  with  good 
will  and  good  taste  withal,  the  boat  was  soon  in  fair  trim 
for  its  expected  guests.  The  bower,  as  Andy  would  call  it, 
was  furnished  with  two  comfortable  chairs,  borrowed  from 
a  friendly  trader.  A  rude  bunk  was  knocked  together  and 
thereon  extra  bearskins  were  laid  down,  making  an  invit 
ing  couch.  A  dressed  deer  skin,  curiously  decorated  with 


40  THE    LATIMERS. 

Indian  totem  signs,  was  draped  across  the  "bow  end;  and 
the  rudder  end  was  closed  in  with  wattles,  leaving  only  a 
door,  over  which  hung  a  pair  of  panther  skins.  A  square 
bit  of  canvas  made  by  stitching  together  remnants  of  old 
government  tents  abandoned  in  various  expeditions,  was 
stretched  over  the  thatched  top,  thus  forming  a  roof  rea 
sonably  secure  from  ordinary  showers  and  river  mists. 

"Thar  now/'  said  Andy,  "we're  ready  for  ma  leddy;  an' 
it's  a  dainty  enough  bower  for  Lady  Washington  herself, 
God  bless  her!  Ther's  privacy  if  she  wants  it.  Ther's  a 
fair  view  of  the  river  scanery  whan  she  choices  to  draw  her 
bow  curtain.  An'  whan  she  wants  fer  to  convarse  with  the 
Cap'n  an'  mate,  as  she  surely  wull,  bein'  a  lady  of  quality, 
why,  ther's  a  nate  door  in  the  ahfther  cabin.  An'  thar's  a 
bunch  o'  posies  'at  King  George's  gardener  couldn't  fur 
nish!"  pointing  to  a  crock  full  of  goldenrod  and  field  lilies 
plucked  from  the  banks  outside  the  fort.  "An'  yon'er  she 
comes,  lad,  an'  we're  not  a  mort  too  soon." 

The  young  woman  tripped  down  the  sloping  bank  in 
advance  of  her  uncle;  and  with  a  merry  outburst  of 
laughter,  as  if  in  high  spirits  in  prospect  of  her  week's 
picknicking,  leaped  upon  the  gang  plank.  It  made  a  little 
lurch,  and  frightened  thereat  the  damsel  threw  up  her  arms 
for  balance  and  uttered  a  slight  scream.  What  then  could 
John  do,  who  stood  at  the  bow  to  receive  his  guests,  but 
reach  forth  his  hand  to  steady  her,  and  support  her  over  the 
bulwarks  ?  Merry  black  eyes  looked  up  into  the  tall  youth's 
face.  A  sweet  voice  said:  "Oh,  thank  you!"  and  a  dainty 
hand  was  laid  in  his  palm.  Are  we  so  far  from  our  young 
days  that  we  cannot  recall  the  thrill  of  some  such  touch 
as  that? 

John  turned  to  receive  Gen.  Neville,  who  hurried  aboard 
plainly  ruffled  at  his  niece's  unceremonious  advent.  He 
was  followed  by  a  negro  slave  laden  with  wraps  and  carry 
ing  a  lady's  hand-box.  Meanwhile,  the  maiden  was  already 
inspecting  her  bower,  and  giving  vent  to  sundry  pleased 
ejaculations. 

"Luke  Latimer,  I  suppose?"  asked  Gen.  Neville,  ad 
dressing  Andy. 

"Andy  Burbeck,  at  yer  sarvice,"  was  the  answer.  "Yon's 
Captain  Latimer,  yer  honor,"  pointing  to  John. 

"Captain  be  hanged!"  the  General  began,  but  bit  short 
off  his  expletive  and  turned  to  his  niece.  "Excuse  me, 


THE   LATIMEES.  41 

Blanche;  but  it  vexes  me  to  hear  these  honorable  titles 
given  to  boatmen  and  packmen,  and  every  Tom,  Dick  and 
Harry  on  the  border." 

"True  enough,  yer  honor,"  interposed  Andy,  not  at  all 
discomfited.  aAll  the  Stuarts  aint  cousins  to  the  king. 
But  if  yer  honor  'd  ?a  tackled  succissfully  the  difficoolties 
an'  dangers  of  the  Ohio  rriver  in  a  flat  boat,  what  with 
floods  an7  currents,  an'  snags,  sawyers  an'  san'  bars,  am- 
bushin'  savages  an'  crrooked  white  men  to  dale  with,  may 
hap  y'ud  think  aven  'GinerT  too  humble  a  title  for  yer 
honor.  An'  what's  the  harem  o'  givin'  the  boatmen  ceevil 
tarms,,  or  for  that  matter  other  folk  as  well?  It's  al'lus 
best  to  be  ceevil,  as  the  old  wife  said  whan  she  curt'sied  to 
the  divil " 

Not  deigning  answer  to  Andy's  double  shot,  the  Inspec 
tor  addressed  John,  whose  eyes  were  kindling  up  at  the 
discourteous  words,  which  cut  him  more  sharply  in  the  pres 
ence  of  a  fair  maiden. 

"Wasn't  it  agreed  that  your  father  should  have  charge 
of  the  boat,  sir?  asked  Gen.  Neville. 

"It  was  so  understood  and  expected.  But  my  father  is 
otherwise  occupied,  and  has  left  me  to  serve  you." 

"But  I  bargained  for  a  man  of  experience,  and  stand  up 
to  my  contract,  nothing  more  nor  less.  I'm  not  satisfied 
with  this  arrangement." 

"As  you  please,  sir,"  answered  John,  with  a  quiet  dig 
nity  and  tone  of  high  courtesy  into  which  he  often 
dropped  as  naturally  (his  mother  said)  as  a  born  lord.  "I 
surrender  the  contract  willingly,  and  here,  sir,  is  the 
earnest  money.  Andy,  take  the  gentleman's  luggage 
ashore!"  As  he  turned  to  cross  the  gang  plank  his  eyes 
chanced  to  meet  the  damsel's,  which  looked  so  grieved  and 
disappointed  that  he  turned  back,  and  making  a  stately 
obeisance  to  the  General,  said: 

"Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  apologized  for  any  inconven 
ience  you  have  suffered.  It  was  beyond  my  power  to  pre 
vent  it,  and  I  regret  your  disappointment.  Nevertheless, 
I  may  say  that  no  wrong  has  been  done  you,  as  I  hold  my 
self  well  able,  with  the  aid  I  have  employed,  to  do  all  that 
my  father  could  have  done  to  make  your  trip  safe  and 
agreeable." 

It  may  be  that  the  General  would  not  have  yielded,  had 
not  his  niece  given  opportunity  to  do  so  without  compro- 


42  THE   LATIMEKS. 

mise  to  his  fancied  dignity,  by  expressing  her  pleasure  in 
the  arrangements  made  for  her  comfort,  and  begging  her 
uncle  to  go  forward.  "For,"  quoth  she,  "we  shall  surely 
do  as  well  with  these  men  as  with  any  others,"  and  turned 
a  pleased  glance  upon  John's  stalwart  and  comely  figure. 

"Well,  we  shall  see!"  said  the  General  stiffly.  Then 
speaking  to  John,  "I  am  satisfied  to  proceed.  Hannibal," 
addressing  the  slave,  "bring  the  traps  aboard." 

"Is  the  negro  to  go,  sir?"  asked  John. 

"Certainly;  he  will  wait  upon  us.  There  are  no  objec 
tions  I  hope,  sir?" 

"None  at  all,  General;  but  it  was  not  so  'nominated  in 
the  bond/  and  you  seemed  so  set  upon  holding  to  the  exact 
terms  of  agreement  that  I  ventured  my  inquiry.  I  had 
made  other  arrangements  for  you,  but  if  the  slave  adds  to 
the  lady's  or  your  own  comfort  in  the  least,  he  is  welcome." 

The  General  flushed,  and  wondered  inwardly  where  the 
deuce  a  keel  boatman  had  picked  up  a  Shakespearean  quo 
tation.  John  bowed  courteously,  pleased  that  he  had 
turned  the  tables  so  deftly  upon  his  intractable  passenger. 
Then  he  drew  in  the  gang-plank,  made  secure  the  fastenings 
of  the  towboat,  and  seizing  a  pole  shoved  the  craft  into  the 
stream.  Taking  the  stern  sweep  and  setting  Andy  at  a 
pole,  he  soon  got  the  ungainly  vessel  under  way,  and  the 
party  swung  lazily  down  the  current  into  the  shadows  of 
the  environing  hills. 

Blanche  Oldham  sat  at  the  boat's  bow  with  her  uncle, 
who  pointed  out  the  interesting  features  of  the  scenery. 
On  the  left  Coal  Hill  (now  Mount  Washington)  lifted 
up  its  steep  sides  covered  from  summit  to  base  with  thick 
forest  growth,, that  switched  with  its  overhanging  shrubbery 
the  turbid  waters  of  the  Monongahela.  They  passed  on  the 
right  the  site  and  successor  of  old  Fort  DuQuesne,  now 
bearing  its  newer  name  of  Fort  Pitt,  in  honor  of  the  noble 
English  statesman  who  pleaded  for  justice  to  his  colonial 
countrymen  during  the  trying  Eevolutionary  conflict. 
Soon  breastworks  and  block-house  and  the  cluster 
of  cabins  and  stores  that  formed  the  beginnings  of  Pitts- 
burg  were  left  behind.  Now  the  clear  current  of  the  Alle 
gheny  swept  around  the  point,  holding  aloof  from  the 
muddy  stream  of  its  confluent  for  a  goodly  space.  It 
amused  Blanche  to  trace  the  boundary  of  the  two  rivers 
until  their  waters  were  completely  commingled.  And  so, 


THE   LATIMERS.  43 

at  last,  they  were  launched  into  the  wilderness  upon  the 
bosom  of  the  Ohio. 

Supper  was  served  on  the  boat  that  evening,  and  as  the 
moon  came  up  early  and  nearly  full,  the  sweep  was  kept 
steadily  going  until  eight  o'clock.  As  the  craft  glided  over 
the  moonlit  river  and  the  night  voices  of  that  new  land 
came  in  from  the  wooded  shores,  and  the  balmy  wind  rus 
tled  in  the  dense  foliage,  chiming  in  with  the  dip,  dip  and 
gurgle  of  the  broad  SAveep  and  the  rippling  of  the  water 
along  the  sides  and  bow,  Blanche  was  continually  breaking 
forth  with  glad  cries  and  marvelings.  The  General  well 
nigh  forgot  his  pique,  and  even  the  boat's  crew,  familiar 
as  they  were  with  the  scenes,  felt  the  soothing  spell  of  the 
summer  night. 

When  the  >  boat  was  made  fast,  the  maiden  retired  to 
her  bower.  A  rude  shelter  was  fitted  up  for  the  General 
amidships.  Hannibal,  who  had  already  turned  in,  slept 
in  the  stern;  and  John  and  Andy  raked  together  a  lair  of 
twigs  and  dried  leaves,  and  bivouacked  ashore,  keeping 
guard  by  turns. 


CHAPTEK  VI. 

A  DOG  AND  CAT. 

Blanche  was  up  betimes,  and  came  from  her  bower  bub 
bling  full  of  pleasure  in  the  novelty  of  her  situation.  A 
jar  of  limpid  water  had  been  slipped  underneath  the  cur 
tain  door.  A  rude  bracket  lashed  upon  one  of  the  forked 
props  held  a  wooden  wash  trencher  for  her  ablutions,  above 
which  hung  a  small  mirror.  "A  gentleman's  shaving  glass, 
I  think,"  mused  the  maiden,  as  she  knotted  her  black  hair. 
"I  wonder  is  it  Captain  John's?" 

Her  gown  was  a  simple  blue  wool  fabric,  with  yellow 
frog  braiding  across  the  bosom,  such  as  military  men  affect. 
She  had  worn  a  blue  hood  with  pink  lining  on  the  day  be 
fore,  as  a  shade  from  the  sun,  and  her  brunette  face  looked 
very  pretty  set  about  with  the  warm  color.  But  for  this 
morning  she  had  donned  a  round  cap  made  in  the  fashion 
of  a  frontiersman's,  but  of  cloth  instead  of  fur,  and  with 
an  upright  eagle  feather  instead  of  the  drooping  tail  which 
woodmen  wore. 


44  THE   LATIMEES. 

A  gilt  embroidered  baldric  was  slung  over  her  shoulder 
and  supported  a  small  bugle  such  as  huntsmen  used  in 
ancient  forestry,  a  toy  that  an  Eastern  kinsman  had  given 
her,  and  which  she  had  learned  to  wind  with  no  little  skill. 
"Who  knows,"  she  said  laughingly.  "I  am  going  into 
American  forests,  and  may  need  to  sound  my  mots  and 
show  my  woodcraft/7  However,  she  had  had  no  cause  to 
display  her  skill  thus  far,  nor  was  like  to  have,  save  for  her 
own  amusement  and  the  pleasuring  of  her  friends. 

The  General  welcomed  her  with  a  morning  kiss  and 
called  her  a  little  witch,  which  set  John  pondering 
the  privileges  of  uncles  and  the  mystery  of  witchcraft. 
Bounce  also  made  his  appearance,  and,  overjoyed  to  be  out 
of  limbo  in  which  his  master  had  held  him,  filled  the  woods 
with  merry  yelpings.  As  the  lady  at  once  made  friends 
with  him  he  had  no  more  imprisonings,  but  wandered  at 
will,  having  even  the  privilege  of  Blanche's  bower,  a  favor 
which  some  higher  animals  on  board  sometimes  coveted. 
Whatever  thoughts  John  had  upon  this  matter  he  bosomed 
up,  and  kept  strictly  to  his  duty,  and  urged  all  hands  to  an 
early  start;  "for,"  said  he,  "we  must  make  the  Indian  Rocks 
in  good  time  this  morning." 

Now  Blanche  wound  her  bugle,  for  she  claimed  the 
privilege  of  making  signals,  and  sounding  to  break  camp 
and  tie  up  for  the  night  after  the  fashion  of  rivermen,  and 
once  more  the  boat  was  off.  The  day  was  a  long  delight, 
though  startled  by  no  adventure.  Shrubs  and  trees;  birds 
and  wild  animals;  creeks  and  brooks  plashing  into  the  river; 
an  occasional  cabin  and  field  of  corn  where  the  axe  had 
eaten  little  square  patches  of  open  in  the  forest, — these 
and  like  things  kept  Blanche  occupied.  But  after  the  noon 
lunch  on  the  green  shore,  the  novelty  of  sight-seeing  being 
somewhat  broken,  the  maiden  cast  about  for  amusement 
among  her  fellow  voyagers. 

The  tall  young  fellow  in  charge,  a  handsome  athlete 
she  thought  him,  much  interested  her.  Doing  two  men's 
work  without  fuss,  scant  of  words,  but  with  bearing  and 
courtesy  far  above  his  station,  .quite  like  a  prince  in  dis 
guise,  she  mused, — that  was  Captain  John.  "Captain" 
Andy  would  have  him,  and  "Captain"  he  was,  even  the 
General  at  last  falling  in  grudgingly,  although  John  was 
thoroughly  at  one  with  him  in  contempt  for  assumed  titles. 
Howbeit,  he  was  not  without  claims  to  his  own  as  captain 


THE   LATIMERS.  45 

of  a  militia  company.  Blanche  could  not  bring  herself  to 
address  him  with  the  familiar  "John,"  he  seemed  so  far 
above  that;  and  if  he  were  not  a  captain,  why  he  ought  to 
be!  He  had  as  yet  said  little  to  her,  but  she  was  conscious 
that  although  he  seemed  scarcely  to  note  her,  he  was  some 
how  always  anticipating  her  wants,  and  as  by  instinct 
bringing  things  to  pass  for  her  pleasuring. 

For  example,  how  did  he  know,  just  now,  that  she  was 
weary  of  looking  at  the  hot  river?  But,  from  the  high- 
stepped  log  set  up  on  end,  something  like  an  upping  block, 
on  which  he  stood  to  manage  the  stern  sweep,  and  which 
enabled  him  to  overlook  the  roof  of  the  cabin  and  thus  have 
fair  vision  for  steerage,  he  had  plainly  noted  her  weariness. 
The  boat  swept  over  into  the  grateful  shade  of  a  hill  from 
which  came  the  odor  of  pine  wood. 

"Come,  Hannibal/'  said  the  Captain,  "can't  you  relieve 
Andy  at  the  pole  for  awhile  ?  Miss  Blanche  wants  him." 

"0  Captain,  what  a  story!"  said  the  astonished  maiden 
in  her  heart.  "I  never  thought  of  Andy!"  But  there  was 
a  quiet  twinkle  in  those  strong,  comely  eyes,  and  such  an 
air  of  authority,  that  she  spoke  no  word  and  waited  to  see 
what  would  follow. 

"Now,  Andy,  you've  not  shown  your  terrier's  virtues  to 
the  General,  and  he  is  fond  of  dogs,  you  see!"  as  indeed  he 
was.  "Won't  you  let  Bounce  give  us  an  Irish  jig?" 

"Ay,  that  A'  wull,  with  his  honor's  permission,"  said 
Andy;  which  the  Inspector  gave  with  a  pleasant  nod.  "An' 
the  lady's  also?"  turning  to  Blanche,  who  laughed  her  ap 
proval. 

Andy  removed  his  wool  hat,  whereat  his  hairs,  delivered 
from  their  burden,  at  once  rose  up  over  his  head  as  though 
charged  with  electricity.  "Now,  Bounce,  attintion!"  The 
dog  trotted  up  to  his  master,  seated  himself  on  his  hind 
legs,  drew  his  forelegs  up  and  looked  into  Andy's  face. 
"Sow,  my  lad,  we're  about  to  axecute  the  famous  Irrish 
jig.  An'  mark  ye,  marrk!"  holding  up  his  finger,  "ycr 
under  the  eye  of  the  gintry,  this  time;  no  common  spec 
tators,  sorr!  So  none  of  your  vulgar  cavortin's!  Do  ye 
understand,  sorr,  an'  are  ye  quite  rready?" 

"Yowp!"  barked  Bounce,  nodding  his  head. 

"Wull,  now,  salute  yer  pardner, — up!"  Bounce  rose 
upon  his  hind  paws,  backed  a  step  then  came  forward 
again  and  barked. 


46  THE   LATIMEES. 

"Now  the  band  will  strrike  up,  an'  away  we  go." 
Thereupon  he  began  chanting  a  well-known  tune,  "Boy's 
Wife  of  Aldavalock,"  to  the  familiar  but  untranslatable 
words  of 

"Tidery — i — di,  tider — y — um — turn !" 

and  commenced  a  swaying  sort  of  dance,  moving  his  arms 
up  and  down  like  wings.  The  dog  seemed  to  enter  at  once 
into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion,  and  moved  back  and  forth  on 
his  hind  feet,  around  and  around,  eyeing  his  master  and  fol 
lowing  his  movements.  There  was  not  much  regard  to 
time  perhaps,  if  one  observed  closely,  but  the  idea  of 
rhythmic  motion  was  suggested,  and  the  dog  really  seemed 
to  dance.  A  round  of  hearty  applause  greeted  the  per 
formance,  and  when  Bounce  was  released  by  his  master  he 
ran  to  Miss  Blanche  to  be  caressed,  and  then  received,  the 
General's  fondling  with  evident  satisfaction. 

"Now,  return  thanks,  sorr!"  called  Andy.  Whereat 
Bounce  got  upon  his  hind  feet,  and  following  his  master's 
pointed  finger,  gave  two  bright  yelps  and  a  nod,  first  toward 
the  lady,  then  toward  the  General,  and  then  Captain  John. 

"That's  a  good  b'y;  an'  here's  a  bit  o'  sugar  til  ye." 
While  the  dog  munched  the  sweet  morsel,  Andy  craved  the 
use  of  a  chair  from  Miss  Blanche,  which  he  placed  near  the 
bulwark  and  sat  down  as  though  to  rest.  Suddenly  he  threw 
himself  back  with  drooping  head  and  hands  hanging  down, 
and  called  out  in  pitiful  tones,  "Oh!  Bounce!  your — poor — 
master 's — sick!" 

The  terrier,  uttering  a  piteous  whine,  sprang  upon  h.is 
master's  bosom,  put  his  forepaws  around  his  neck,  laid  his 
face  against  his  cheek,  and  kissed  him  again  and  again 
while  uttering  most  dolorous  howls.  The  mimicking  of 
grief  was  so  admirable  that  this  feat  was  applauded  even 
more  than  the  dancing.  But  no  applause  changed  the 
tokens  of  canine  dolor  until  Andy  slowly  raised  his  head 
and  sighed,  "Ah!  I— feel  better— now!"  Then  the  dog's 
whole  being  seemed  transformed  from  sorrow  to  joy.  He 
threw  his  head  back,  uttered  gladsome  barkings  again  and 
again,  and  fondled  his  master's  face. 

"Now  Bounce,  b'y,  that'll  do!  Thank  the  gintlefolk 
for  their  sympathy."  The  dog  leaped  down,  got  on  his 
hind  feet,  and  again  following  Andy's  fingers,  barked  and 


THE   LATIMERS.  47 

bowed  to  Blanche,  to  the  General  and  to  John.  Then 
catching  the  latter's  approving  eye,  he  ran  away  to  him 
first  of  all,  leaping  upon  his  arm  and  growing  happy  in  his 
applause.  Plainly  Bounce  and  John  were  old  and  good 
friends. 

This  performance  and  the  repetition  of  it,  and  the  chat 
about  it,  sent  on  the  forenoon  well  towards  the  hour  for 
luncheon.  Blanche  was  enthusiastic  in  praise  of  Bounce's 
intelligence.  "Ah — but,  Miss,"  said  Andy,  "ye  ought  fer 
til  see  the  two  of  'em,  Bounce  an'  Betty,  th'gither,  an'  be 
like  some  of  their  offspring  with  'em  dancin'  a  jig  along 
with  ma  wife,  Peggy.  If  ye'll  honor  our  cabin  at  Canons- 
burg  with  a  visit,  we  '11  be  pl'ased  to  intertain  ye.  But 
mind  ye,  Madam,  these  are  not  performin'  dogs,  an'  we  are 
no  show  people.  It's  not  for  public  idification,  as  parson 
says,  but  for  our  private  delectation  like,  an'  betimes,  for 
a  fri'nd  or  a  veesitor  that  we  show  what  the  dogs  can  do. 
Ah,  ye're  right,  Miss,  they  are  purty  cr'aters  and  quite 
human  in  their  ways;  indade  A'  wush  all  men  were  as 
dainty  an'  true  as  ma  dogs.  But  it's  not  ivery  man  that's 
a  Cap'n  John,  nor  ivery  dog  that's  a  Bounce  an'  Betty!" 
With  which  rather  irrelevant  remark,  as  far  as  John  was 
concerned,  he  went  back  to  his  pole  much  to  Hannibal's 
comfort,  for  the  negro  was  not  well  affected  toward  such 
work. 

The  Indian  Rocks  were  reached  by  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon,  and  as  Gen.  Neville  was  minded  to  tarry  for  a 
day's  hunt,  Blanche  resolved  to  spend  the  night  ashore. 
The  booth  which  the  Latimers  had  lately  built  needed 
only  fresh  branches  to  make  it  comfortable.  A  wattled 
partition  was  run  through  the  middle;  the  skin  curtains 
were  hung  in  front,  and  one  compartment  given  to 
Blanche,  the  other  to  her  uncle.  Andy  slept  on  the  boat, 
and  Gen.  Neville  insisting  that  Hannibal  should  share  in 
the  watch,  John  set  him  the  first  part  of  the  night,  and 
wrapping  a  blanket  around  himself  lay  down  by  the  great 
walnut  tree  after  making  the  most  solemn  charge  to  Han 
nibal  to  be  wakeful  and  alert. 

"Sakes  alive,  Mars'  Cap'n,  yo'  doan'  spec'  I  could  go 
asleep  an'  leave  Miss  Blanche  an'  de  Gine'l  widout  g'yard 
in  dis  wilderness  ob  Sinai?  Yo'  shouldn't  hab  so  po'  a 
'pinion  of  Hannibal,  sah,  'deed  not!  'Sides  dat,  I'se  too 
skeered  to  sleep,  do'  pow'ful  little  I  got  lars  night,  I  'shore 

ye." 


48  THE    LATIMERS. 

As  the  negro  had  done  nothing  but  sleep  the  night  be 
fore,  John  gave  little  weight  to  the  last  qualification,  but 
thought  that  surely  he  might  be  trusted  for  a  few  hours. 
However,  as  he  anticipated  no  danger  and  was  weary  with 
hard  work,  he  was  soon  asleep.  Well  towards  midnight  he 
was  disturbed  by  a  low  snarl  from  Bounce,  who  had  curled 
down  to  sleep  beside  him.  He  hushed  the  dog  with  a  whis 
per,  fearing  he  might  arouse  the  camp.  But  Bounce, 
though  biddable,  backed  against  his  bosom  and  cuddled 
there  still  growling  softly.  John,  now  awake,  observing 
that  Hannibal  was  sound  asleep,  cast  a  glance  toward  the 
booth.  The  moon  shed  its  full  lustre  through  the  forest 
leaves,  and  cast  a  broad  silver  paten  against  the  front, 
showing  Blanche  seated  outside,  and  dozing  with  her  head 
leaned  against  the  corner  prop.  The  vnight  being  warm 
she  had  arisen,  and  putting  a  chair  just  outside  the  cur 
tain,  sat  down  in  the  breeze  to  enjov  the  silence  and  beauty, 
and  so  had  fallen  asleep.  It  was  a  charming  picture  for  a 
young  man's  study,  and  John  had  enjoyed  it  thoroughly 
for  a  few  moments,  when  his  glance  was  diverted  from  the 
maiden  by  the  fluttering  of  a  white  object  on  the  ground 
a  few  yards  beyond  her. 

Ah!  her  handkerchief,  which  had  dropped  from  her  re 
laxed  fingers,  and  been  puffed  away  by  the  rising  wind,  and 
was  just  now  being  lifted  further  by  a  flaw.  The  youth 
let  his  glance  follow  the  dainty  thing,  and  had  pleased  re 
membrance  of  the  perfume  of  lavender  which  it  had  ex 
haled  when,  during  the  afternoon,  having  dropped  from 
Blanche's  hand,  he  had  restored  it  to  her.  Beyond  the 
patch  of  moonlight  it  rolled  with  fitful  turns  into  the 
shadow,  where  it  stopped — kind  Heaven!  could  it  be? — 
against  the  very  nose  of  a  huge  catamount!  The  gray  form 
was  crouching  catwise,  back  curved  downward,  tail  curved 
upward  and  lightly  resting  on  the  ground,  head  to  the  earth 
and  forepaws  outspread  as  though  to  spring  upon  its  vic 
tim. 

John  felt  at  his  heart  a  chill  heretofore  unknown  to 
him,  and  his  limbs  were  stricken  as  with  a  palsy.  It  was  a 
full  quarter  minute  (and  it  seemed  an  age)  ere  he  could 
grasp  his  rifle  and  raise  himself  upon  one  arm,  while 
Bounce  silent  and  trembling  crept  behind  him.  Every 
sense  was  keenly  alert  now,  and  the  blood  beating  like  hot 
steam  in  his  veins.  It  seemed  strange  to  him  that  he  could 


THE    LATIMERS.  49 

note,  in  that  awful  extremity,  such  trifles  as  that  Blanche 
twice  nodded  her  pretty  head;  that  a  whippoorwill  whistled 
from  the  hill;  that  a  dead  twig  fell  from  the  walnut  tree 
upon  his  breast;  and  strange, — but  strangest  of  all  that  he 
should  ponder  it  and  marvel  over  it, — that  the  panther 
stooped  and  sniffed  the  fluffy  ball  that  the  flaw  had  laid 
against  its  nose. 

What  could  the  beast  mean?  It  relaxed  its  tense  pose, 
that  graceful,  masterful  attitude  of  the  cat  kind,  the  per 
fect  expression  of  muscular  vigor  and  beauty,  when  about  to 
spring  upon  its  prey.  Its  ears  drooped  forward.  It  put 
its  nose  once  and  again  to  the  kerchief  and  sniffed  as  with 
pleasure;  then  closed  its  paws  upon  it  and  smelled  it,  and 
John  thought  he  heard  it  purr  as  if  enjoying  the  delicious- 
ness  of  the  fragrance.  Whoever  heard  of  wild  beasts  tak 
ing  pleasure  in  sweet  scents,  especially  ladies'  perfumes? 

He  was  conscious  of  all  this  undercurrent  of  thought 
and  quer}',  as  with  a  swift  and  silent  movement  that  even 
the  brute  before  him  could  not  excel,  he  dropped  his  rifle 
upon  the  toe  of  his  moccasin,  cocked  it,  marked  and  ap 
proved  the  priming,  glanced  along  the  barrel  with  as  true 
sight  as  might  be,  and  pulled  the  trigger.  Then,  as  the 
shot  rang  out  and  awoke  many  echoes  among  the  hills  in 
the  still  night,  he  flung  the  rifle  aside,  seized  his  belt  knife, 
and  leaped  through  the  smoke. 

What  followed  passed  with  such  quickness  that  it  was 
like  the  vision  given  by  a  lightning  flash  into  the  darkness 
of  night  and  storm.  Blanche  springing  to  her  feet,  startled 
from  sleep  with  pitiful  screams,  with  clasped  hands  and 
wide  eyes  looking  this  way  and  that;  the  General,  standing 
in  the  moonlit  opening  of  the  booth,  with  hard  face  and 
pointed  pistol  in  each  hand,  shouting  fiercely:  "Cursed 
traitor,  take  that!" — another  crack  of  firearms  into  the 
echoing  air;  a  sharp  thud  upon  his  side,  as  his  rapid  course 
was  stayed,  and  he  fell  prone  with  outstretched  arms  and 
hands  grasping  the  turf. 

Then  a  dark  form  suddenly  shot  athwart  the  space,  ob 
truding  between  John  and  the  General.  An  iron  hand 
grasped  the  Inspector's  outpointed  left  arm  and  hurled  it 
aloft  as  though  it  were  a  feather,  while  a  third  shot  was 
heard,  and  the  deflected  bullet  from  the  discharged  pistol 
hissed  through  the  overhanging  foliage.  A  deep  voice 
quavering  with  suppressed  wrath  spoke:  "Does  the  white 
4 


50  THE   LATIMEKS. 

chief  kill  his  friends?    Fool!"    With  a  sweep  of  his  arm 
as  though  the  man  were  but  a  dandelion  stock,  the  Mingc . 
for  it  was  Panther,  felled  the  General  and  sprang  to  the 
side  of  his  fallen  friend. 

"Is  the  Young  Oak  much  hurt?"  he  asked  with  a  voice 
that  sounded  strangely  tender  in  comparison  with  the  harsh 
tones  just  uttered.  He  knelt  at  John's  side  and  stooped 
to  lift  him.  But  the  Young  Oak  was  not  too  much  hurt  to 
hear  a  plaintive  cry  from  the  booth  whose  anxiety  pulsed 
upon  his  ear  not  ungratefully:  "0  uncle,  you  have  killed 
Captain  John!" 

"I  hope  so!"  cried  the  enraged  man,  who  seemed  dazed 
and  terrified  by  a  strange  mistake;  and  rising  he  drew  a 
poniard  and  sprang  upon  the  Indian. 

Panther,  though  unprepared  and  engrossed  with  the 
care  of  John,  glided  from  his  grasp,  and  hurling  himself 
upon  the  General  with  that  agility  which  had  earned  him 
his  warrior  name,  bore  him  to  the  ground,  and  throttling 
him  with  one  hand  lifted  with  the  other  his  tomahawk. 

"Hold,  Panther!"  cried  John,  "for  God's  sake  don't 
strike!"  Blanche,  who  had  thrown  herself  between  the 
Indian  and  the  Inspector,  fell  swooning  upon  her  uncle's 
breast. 

"Panther  doesn't  strike  squaws!"  said  the  Mingo,  rising 
and  turning  to  his  friend,  who  was  now  getting  to  his  feet. 

The  Inspector,  who  was  not  injured,  said  nothing,  but 
glowered  angrily  upon  the  Indian,  and  sought  to  disen 
gage  himself  from  the  fainting  damsel.  Andy  appeared 
upon  the  scene  hatless,  his  prickly  hair  unwontedly  on  end; 
while  Bounce  was  sniffing  and  barking  at  the  prostrate 
form  of  the  catamount,  and  Hannibal  sat  upon  hands 
and  hunkers  at  the  foot  of  the  walnut  tree  rolling  his  eyes 
in  mute  terror,  and  despite  the  hubbub  even  yet  half  asleep. 

"Is  the  Young  Oak  hurt?"  again  asked  Panther,  put 
ting  up  his  tomahawk. 

"I  believe  not;  but — I  hardly  know.  Not  much,  at 
least.  But  never  mind  me.  Let's  look  out  for  the  young 
woman." 

He  arose,  and  lifted  Blanche  up  and  laid  her  upon  the 
bearskins  within  the  booth.  The  dainty  form  seemed  but 
an  infant  in  his  arms,  and  the  touch  thereof  thrilled  along 
his  nerves  and  seemed  to  heal  whatever  hurt  he  had.  But 
he  was  not  used  to  such  duty,  for  a  swooning  woman  was 


THE   LATIMERS.  51 

quite  beyond  his  experience.  Only,  in  a  blind  sort  of  way, 
he  knew  that  water  was  good  and  called  Andy  to  bring  a 
bucketful.  It  is  questionable  what  he  would  have  done 
with  it,  or  how  Blanche  would  have  fared  under  his  sur 
gery,  had  not  Featherfoot,  fresh  come  from  her  wigwam  on 
the  nearby  island,  glided  into  the  booth.  With  vast  relief  he 
gave  over  to  her  the  task  of  reanimation,  and  left  the  place 
drawing  the  curtain  behind  him. 

By  this  time  Gen.  Neville  had  recovered  from  his  con 
fusion  of  mind,  and  having  seen  the  dead  catamount  lying 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  booth  door,  got  a  true  view  of  the 
situation.  When  John  came  to  explain,  the  proud  man's 
mortification  was  pitiful  to  see.  He  apologized  until  John 
would  hear  no  more;  indeed,  his  explanation  had  been  an 
ticipated.  Greatly  troubled  over  the  condition  of  revenue 
affairs,  and  knowing  the  popular  unfriendliness  with  which 
he  was  environed,  the  Inspector's  nerves  were  in  a  high 
state  of  tension  and  excitement.  When  startled  from  deep 
sleep  by  the  rifle  shot,  he  seized  his  pistols,  and  seeing  John 
apparently  rushing  upon  him  with  drawn  knife,  he  be 
lieved  himself  betrayed  and  attacked,  and  so  fired.  The 
sudden  appearance  of  the  Indian  only  confirmed  his  sus 
picions;  and,  to  cut  the  matter  short,  he  denounced  himself 
as  idiot,  lunatic,  and  cursed  fool,  and  felt  humbled  and  dis 
graced  beyond  expression.  Even  when  all  at  length  were 
again  settled,  and  Blanche  recovered  and  happy  to  hear  the 
upshot  of  things,  and  quiet  restored  to  the  camp,  the  Gen 
eral's  hurt  pride  would  not  let  him  rest.  He  paced  back 
and  forth  between  moonlight  and  shadow,  cursing  his  folly 
and  censuring  himself  with  self-indignation  and  upbraid- 
ings. 

John  was  grieved  to  see  the  proud  spirit  thus  fretting 
against  itself,  and  tried  to  make  light  of  the  affair.  But 
Andy,  less  sensitive,  suggested  in  an  undertone,  when  an 
opportunity  offered,  "that  it  'ud  do  the  Ginr5!  lots  of  good 
to  dance  awhile  to  his  own  music.  It'll  larn  him  a  powerr 
of  courtesy,  mayhap,  to  go  to  school  to  his  own  blunders. 
It's  hard  gettin'  breeks  off  a  Highlander,  or  consideration 
for  common  folk  off  an  inspector,  and  it's  no  good  a-hin- 
derin'  him  when  he's  in  a  fair  way  to  gain  a  bit.  There'll 
be  lettle  enough  at  the  most,  Cap'n  John,  atween  you  an' 
me  an'  the  bedpost.  So  jist  save  your  breath  to  cool  your 
porridge." 


52  THE   LATIMERS. 

But  what  of  John's  wound?  There  was  no  pain;  no 
blood  had  flowed,  and  not  until  matters  were  settled  would 
he  take  time  to  examine.  The  mystery  was  then  easily 
solved;  the  pistol  bullet  had  struck  fairly  against  John's 
side  and  buried  itself  deeply  within  his  pocket  Virgil.  The 
concussion  stopped  his  headlong  course  and  forced  him  to 
the  ground,  but  otherwise  wrought  no  harm  beyond  a 
bruise. 

John  lightly  dismissed  the  whole  affair,  grieving  most 
for  the  damage  done  his  precious  volume.  Andy  averred 
that  Dr.  McMillan  would  now  have  a  fine  illustration  "oi 
the  use  of  haythen  books  if  not  of  haythen  larnin',"  and 
that  Captain  John  would  henceforth  have  better  reason 
than  ever  to  hold  Virgil  as  his  favorite  author.  To  the 
Inspector  and  his  niece  it  was  indeed  a  revelation  that  their 
keel-boat  captain  should  turn  out  a  classical  scholar.  Yet, 
in  good  sooth,  Blanche  seemed  not  so  greatly  surprised, 
nor  perhaps  would  have  been,  had  Captain  John  proved  to 
be  the  Prince  of  Wales  in  disguise. 


CHAPTER  VH. 

THE  INSPECTOR  MAKES  SOME  DISCOVERIES. 

The  next  morning  was  thick  with  fog.  It  choked  up 
the  river  channel.  It  hung  upon  the  hills  as  a  white  veil, 
and  obscured  the  more  distant  parts  so  that  they  showed  as 
smooth,  shaded  humps.  It  hid  intervening  objects,  leaving 
the  long  line  of  hills  on  the  wooded  summits  of  the  middle 
distance  standing  out  like  an  army  corps  in  line  of  battle 
partly  hidden  by  powder  smoke.  It  thickened  into  wooly 
clumps  over  ravines  and  the  clefts  made  by  mountair 
brooks.  It  penetrated  the  nearer  foliage  masses,  giving  tile- 
branches  weird  shapes  as  their  dark  outlines  thrust  forth 
separate  from  their  leaves  or  trunks,  as  though  floating  in 
the  midst  of  the  all-embracing  mist. 

Ere  long,  as  the  sun  came  up,  a  reddish  yellow  ball  in 
the  misty  vista,  the  fog  was  dispersed,  saving  only  the 
heavier  masses  above  the  river  channel  and  the  ravines. 
These  overhung  in  white  indented  bulks  and  spiral  pillars, 
and  they  too  were  gradually  broken  into  sections,  and  rav- 


THE   LATIMERS.  53 

elled  away  into  gossamer-like  patches  and  puffs  that  melted 
into  blue  sky.  But  the  dampness  still  cleaved  to  grass  and 
herbage  and  wrapped  its  stickiness  upon  all  objects  near 
the  ground.  Such  a  morning  was  not  likely  to  gender 
mirth  in  our  forest  camp;  for,  not  to  give  verdict  upon  the 
question  whether  or  no  fogs  tend  to  depress  the  spirits,  it 
is  most  true  that  the  dank  and  clammy  condition  of  things 
which  they  create  subtract  from  one's  comfort.  Grass  and 
shrubbery  drip  as  one  moves  about,  and  one's  clothing  is 
soon  saturated.  Now,  no  human  creature  loves  that  estate; 
no,  not  even  savages  of  whatever  race;  for  man  shrinks  from 
wetness,  and  seeks  artificial  protection  from  it.  Therefore 
familiars  with  forest  life  can  feel  the  force  of  Mr.  Alfred 
Russell  Wallace's  objection  to  the  theory  that  our  present 
naked  genus  homo  has  come  through  evolution  from  a 
hairy  ancestor. 

The  first  movements  at  Camp  Indian  Rocks  were 
sombre  and  sluggish,  which  condition  the  broken  sleep 
and  excitement  of  the  preceding  night  rather  fostered. 
But  Latimer,  knowing  the  genial  influence  of  a  camp-fire, 
had  early  set  the  men  to  gather  dry  wood;  and  heaping  the 
same  dexterously  against  a  great  backlog,  pierced  the  fog 
with  a  lurid  and  kindly  blaze  which  presently  won  for  itself 
a  circle  of  warmth  and  dryness  whose  circumference  over 
lapped  Blanche's  booth.  When  the  maiden  appeared,  the 
view  of  the  camp-fire  brightened  her  comely  face  with  wel 
come  and  good  cheer. 

Breakfast,  cooked  on  glowing  coals,  wrought  in  kindly 
comradeship  with  fire  and  rising  sun,  and  by  the  time  the 
day  was  well  advanced,  all  spirits,  the  General's  excepted, 
were  under  full  reaction,  and  the  camp  resounded  with  mer 
riment.  The  night  adventure  was  the  theme  of  all  tongues, 
and  Miss  Blanche's  marvelous  escape;  but  nothing  was  said 
in  Gen.  Neville's  presence  of  his  own  blundering  part  in 
the  event. 

"All's  well  that  inds  well!"  said  Andy  sententiously, 
"an'  here's  the  biggest  catamount  that  iver  prrowled  the 
Ohio  hills  slain  by  our  Cap'n  John.  An'  what  an  iligant 
rrug  it'll  make  as  a  memorrial  to  the  ledy  of  her  marvelous 
escape.  So  ye  see,  Miss,  it's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no  good; 
though,  faith,  it  was  more  by  good  luck  nor  good  manage 
ment."  This  bequeathment  of  the  trophy  no  one  was  in 
clined  to  dispute,  and  Andy  and  the  Mingo  skinned  the 
brute  and  prepared  the  pelt  for  dressing. 


64  THE  LATIMEES. 

During  the  morning  the  Mingo  more  than  once  cast 
significant  side-glances  upon  the  Inspector,  who,  after  con 
sulting  his  note-book,  and  glancing  from  some  memoranda 
therein  to  the  Indian  and  back  again  several  times,  devel 
oped  a  peculiar  interest  in  him.  Finally,  he  caught  his  eye, 
made  a  significant  gesture,  and  rising,  carelessly  sauntered 
into  the  woods  along  the  river  bank.  When  out  of  sight 
and  sound  of  camp  he  halted,  and  presently  Panther 
stepped  noiselessly  from  the  underbrush  and  stood  before 
him. 

"The  Inspector  called  Panther;  he  has  come." 

"I  have  as  yet  said  nothing  to  you,"  the  General  began, 
"about  the  wretched  business  of  last  night.  I  am  sorry  for 
my  part  in  it,  and  thank  you  for  your  forbearance  under 
great  provocation.  Does  the  Mingo  understand?" 

"Yes,  Panther  knows!"  He  smiled  and  touched  his 
head.  "Too  much  fire-water!  It  steals  wisdom  from  the 
wisest.  It  is  fire  in  the  blood,  fog  in  the  brain.  Yes, 
Panther  has  seen  that  in  too  many  Indians,  too  many  white 
men.  It  is  bad,  bad!"  and  he  stamped  his  foot.  "It  curses 
my  nation;  it  curses  yours." 

"No,  not  that!"  Gen.  Neville  hastened  to  explain.  "You 
are  quite  wrong  there!"  But  as  he  saw  a  smile  of  incre 
dulity  playing  over  Panther's  face,  he  changed  his  purpose, 
and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  continued:  "Well,  let  it 
pass!  It  was  a  weakness  which  will  not  occur  again,  and 
which  I  am  heartily  ashamed  of.  Now  let  us  to  business." 

"Good!"  said  Panther.  "The  Inspector  is  wise  to  leave 
the  fire-water  to  others.  A  chief  should  keep  a  clear  head. 
The  mountain  brook  is  good  enough  for  Panther.  The 
Great  Spirit  gave  that  to  the  Indian.  The  White  Manitou 
better  have  kept  strong  drink  from  his  children!  But  the 
white  chief  spoke  of  business.  Panther  will  hear  him." 

"The  Great  Father's  War  Secretary  at  Washington  tells 
me,"  said  the  General,  touching  his  handbook,  "that  you 
have  been  a  scout  of  the  Government  for  many  years,  one 
of  its  most  trusted  and  valued  foresters." 

"It  is  true.  Panther  is  proud  of  the  Great  Father's 
words." 

"I  have  here  directions  from  the  War  Secretary,"  taking 
from  his  wallet  a  letter  bearing  the  seal  of  the  War  Office, 
"to  seek  the  Mingo  called  Panther,  and  counsel  with  him 
as  to  the  condition  of  this  frontier.  He  thought,  from 


THE   LATIMERS.  55 

what  was  known  of  you  that  you  could  be  of  great  use  to 
the  Government  in  notifying  us  of  the  state  of  feeling 
among  the  people  along  the  Ohio  and  throughout  Western 
Pennsylvania;  and  that  you  would  be  a  faithful  messenger 
in  any  service  committed  to  you.  I  was  told  to  seek  you  at 
the  mouth  of  Yellow  Creek;  that  was  one  of  my  objects  in 
making  this  trip.  It  was  most  unfortunate  that  I  should 
have  met  you  here  and  as  I  did.  But  it  will  not  raise  a 
cloud  between  us?  Panther,  I  hope,  will  listen  to  my 
words,  and  give  me  his  wise  and  brave  assistance." 

The  Indian  reached  forth  his  hand  to  the  letter,  and 
scanned  the  seal  closely,  and  seemingly  with  content,  for 
he  uttered  a  satisfied  grunt.  "It  is  right!"  he  said. 
"Panther  has  heard  the  Great  Father's  message  and  he 
knows  that  it  speaks  truly.  But  when  he  became  a  scout  it 
was  in  time  of  war.  lie  gave  his  word  to  the  War  Chief  at 
the  Fort  where  the  waters  meet;  and  Panther  knows  no 
one  else  when  he  takes  the  trail,  lie  does  not  doubt  the 
Fire- Water  Chief.  He  knows  his  word  is  true,  but  he  can 
not  obey  him  until  he  speaks  to  the  chief  at  the  Fort." 

The  General  was  disappointed  and  fain  would  have 
tried  to  cozen  or  cajole,  but  knew  that  neither  would  serve. 
He  was  perforce  content,  and  assuming  a  satisfaction  which 
he  felt  not,  said:  "Panther  speaks  as  a  wise  chief  who  has 
learned  caution  by  long  experience.  He  will  see  Gen. 
Wayne,  or  the  commandant  at  Fort  Pitt,  and  learn  that 
Gen.  Neville  is  working  with  them  under  the  Great  Father. 
Meanwhile,  I  am  journeying  down  the  river  with  my  niece, 
and  would  like  you  to  go  with  us.  We  are  bent  chiefly  on 
pleasure;  but  I  have  several  men  to  see  on  important  affairs. 
I  can  demand  nothing  after  what  you  have  said;  but  if  you 
will  voluntarily  aid  me  you  shall  be  well  rewarded.  You 
know  the  troubled  condition  of  the  frontier  on  the  matter 
of  revenue,  and  may  give  me  hints  of  great  value.  Presi 
dent  Washington  expects  every  soldier  and  servant  of  his 
Government  to  aid  in  enforcing  the  law  and  keeping  the 
peace." 

The  Mingo  hesitated  a  few  moments  before  replying, 
being  plainly  in  deep  thought.  At  last  he  spoke:  "Some 
of  Panther's  white  friends  are  angry  with  the  Fire- Water 
Chief  and  his  people.  They  think  the  laws  steal  bread 
from  their  children's  mouths.  Maybe  they  are  wrong;  but 
Panther  will  do  them  no  harm.  Yet  he  will  speak  words 


56  THE   LATIMEKS. 

of  peace,  and  defend  the  Inspector  and  Star  Eyes.  No  harm 
shall  befall  either,  if  Panther  can  hinder.  He  will  go  for 
ward  on  the  trail  and  let  the  white  chief  or  the  Young  Oak 
know.  Is  it  well?" 

"It  is!"  said  the  General.  "I  am  pleased  with  Panther's 
consent,  and  here  is  a  token  of  my  good-will,"  offering  him 
a  gold  coin. 

Panther  drew  himself  up,  and  waving  aside  the  gold 
with  dignity,  said  proudly:  "The  Mingo  takes  no  gold  for 
doing  his  duty.  The  white  man's  God  bids  him  lay  down 
his  life  for  his  brethren.  The  red  man's  Manitou  tells  him 
the  same.  The  Mingo  and  the  Young  Oak  are  brothers; 
and  the  Young  Oak's  brothers  are  Panther's,  too."  So  say 
ing,  he  disappeared  as  silently  as  he  had  come.  A  few 
words  with  John,  a  few  words  in  the  Mingo  language  with 
Featherfoot,  and  the  Indian  entered  his  canoe  and  paddled 
down  the  river. 

Gen.  Neville  had  now  given  up  his  day's  sport  and 
ordered  the  boat  to  put  off.  It  was  past  noon  before  land 
ing  was  made  at  Fort  Steuben,  now  Steubenville,  named 
after  a  gallant  foreign  ally  of  the  colonies,  Baron  Steuben, 
whose  organizing  abilities  went  far  to  convert  the  undisci 
plined  militia  of  Valley  Forge  into  a  serviceable  army. 
Here,  although  the  town  had  not  yet  been  laid  out,  a  rude 
landing  stage  had  been  built  at  the  foot  of  what  is  now 
Market  street,  along  which,  near  the  river  front,  and  not 
far  from  the  charred  ruins  of  the  old  fort,  a  few  cabins 
stood.  Among  these  was  a  tavern,  which  bore  the  name  of 
the  new  Republic,  "The  United  States,"  painted  in  sprawl 
ing  letters  upon  a  clapboard  above  the  door.  There  was 
also  a  store  or  trading  place. 

The  neighboring  settlers  had  come  to  the  village  in 
larger  numbers  than  usual.  Horses  were  picketed  in  the 
unpaved  road  that  passed  for  a  street,  from  which  all  the 
stumps  had  not  yet  been  taken,  and  several  yokes  of  oxen 
attached  to  rough  carts  stood  bowing  under  their  heavy 
poles  and  meekly  chewing  their  cuds.  The  arrival  of  a  keel 
boat  was  enough  to  attract  attention,  and  a  dozen  pioneers 
assembled  at  the  wharf  to  ask  for  news.  The  Fanny  and 
its  owner  were  well  known  to  these  men,  and  John  some 
what  acquainted.  As  Luke  Latimer  was  one  of  the 
staunchest  of  the  patriots  (for  so  the  opponents  of  revenue 
laws  termed  themselves),  his  son  was  greeted  cordially. 


THE    LAT1MEKS.  57 

General  Xeville  was  recognized  as  he  walked  up  to  the  tav 
ern  with  Blanche  and  ordered  dinner;  and  it  was  soon 
buzzed  about  that  he  had  come,  and  that  a  settler,  sus 
pected  to  be  a  revenue  spy,  was  also  at  the  "United  States" 
and  doubtless  closeted  with  him. 

The  pioneers  now  congregated  at  the  store,  one  of  those 
miscellaneous  trading  places  that  mark  frontier  merchan 
dising  everywhere,  whose  type  is  continued  in  the  American 
country  store,  and  out  of  which  has  naturally  been  devel 
oped  our  great  city  caravansaries.  All  manner  of  products 
that  farmers  had  to  sell;  quantities  of  furs,  ginseng,  pro 
visions,  groceries,  and  rude  household  goodb  and  imple 
ments;  sickles  and  rifles,  powder  and  shot;  a  few  Bibles 
with  Rouse's  Psalms  bound  therein;  drugs  and  ointments, 
tobacco  and  pipes, — were  clustered  around  the  long  cabin 
room.  Not  the  least  thrifty  business  stemed  to  be  done 
over  the  counter,  where  drinks  were  sold. 

Around  this  spot  a  group  of  excited  frontiersmen  were 
gathered,  denouncing  with  heated  words  and  lusty  tones 
the  impudence  of  the  Inspector  in  invading  their  domain. 
The  clink  and  clatter  of  drinking  mugs,  the  clank  of  ves 
sels  or  clap  of  hard  hands  on  the  counter,  the  chink  of 
small  coin,  the  clang  of  heavy  boots  on  the  puncheoned 
floor,  the  click  of  metal  as  a  rifle  touched  a  belt-knife  or 
hatchet,  all  mingled  with  the  chatter  and  cackle  of  this 
human  babble;  and  as  the  drink  passed  around,  tongues 
wagged  more  loosely  and  loudly. 

An  Indian  entered  with  a  bundle  of  furs,  and  there  was 
a  momentary  ceasing  of  talk,  which  was  instantly  resumed 
as  the  settlers  recognized  Panther.  lie  was  well  known 
throughout  that  border  as  Luke  Latimer's  crony,  and  wus 
much  respected  for  his  sterling  merit.  Greeting  the  white 
men  with  a  curt  but  cordial  "Howdee!"  he  turned  his  back 
upon  them  and  began  his  barter.  The  trader  observed 
that  he  was  not  quite  so  complaisant  as  usual,  and  resisted 
the  cheapening  of  his  pelts,  and  stopped  to  point  out,  one 
after  another,  their  values.  He  was  also  somewhat  more 
deliberate  in  selecting  his  exchanges,  some  powder,  lead 
and  tobacco  for  himself;  sugar  and  tea,  cloth  and  trinkets 
for  his  squaw.  But  in  course  of  time  the  bargaining  was 
over,  and  without  more  ado  he  left  the  store,  having  seem 
ingly  taken  no  more  notice  of  the  cabal  of  settlers  than  if 
they  had  been  a  covey  of  quail,  an  indifference  which  was 


58  THE   LATIMEKS. 

mutual.  During  his  stay  the  settlers  kept  up  without  re 
serve  their  excited  conversation,  eagerly  discussing  what 
should  be  done  in  view  of  the  Inspector's  visit. 

Ike  Lamborn,  "Wild  Ike"  as  he  was  called,  was  for  the 
extremest  measures.  "Ef  ye'll  jis'  say  the  wored,  b'ys,  A'll 
make  as  short  work  with  him  as  A'  would  with  anny  other 
varmin.  What's  the  use  of  queryin'  along  of  a  matter  like 
this?  He's  a  public  inemy,  dawgon  him!  Let  us  sarve  him 
as  we  did  the  Britishers,  and  show  the  Gov'ment  that  we're 
in  arnest  in  this  matter.  Gimme  a  kag  o'  whuskey,  an'  A' 
promise  ye  he'll  niver  go  back  to  Fort  Pitt."  Thereupon 
he  lifted  his  rifle  and  dandled  it  across  one  arm. 

"No,  no,  Ike,  we  musn't  go  to  sich  axtrames,"  said  the 
trader.  "Do  no  murder,  rnon!  If  bluid  must  be  spilt  let 
the  first  aggrission  come  from  thim,  not  us.  But  A'm  free 
to  own  that  A'  wouldn't  grudge  seein'  the  Inspector 
chucked  into  the  river  an'  well  sowsed." 

"Let  us  lash  him  to  a  tree,"  Eob  Kamsay  suggested, 
"an'  stamp  the  birch  seal  upon  his  back  and  breech  with 
stout  forest  twigs.  He's  over  perticlar  about  his  stamps 
an'  seals  an'  what  not,  forcin'  them  on  settlers.  Now  let's 
give  him  a  taste  of  frontier  gaugin'  an'  markin'." 

This  proposal  was  greeted  with  laughter  and  approval, 
and  seemed  to  express  the  sense  of  the  conclave.  A  few 
were  somewhat  divided  between  the  administration  of  what 
they  called  "Moses's  Law,"  that  is,  forty  stripes  save  one, 
and  the  "Great  Seal  of  the  United  States,"  to  wit,  thirteen 
stripes.  Action  was  deferred  to  hear  a  middle-aged  planter, 
named  Means,  who  had  taken  small  share  as  yet  in.  the  bois 
terous  proceedings. 

"Thar's  one  or  two  things,  lads,  which  ye  fergit,  Gin- 
er'l  Niville  has  his  niece  with  him,  an'  it  would  be  a  most 
ungallant  thing  fer  to  meddle  with  her." 

"Who's  wantin'  to  harm  the  lass?"  broke  in  one  of  the 
company. 

"No  one,  I'll  allow;  but  how  are  ye  to  strike  the  one 
'ithout  a-harmin'  t'other?  I've  niver  knowin'ly  hurted 
women  yit,  an'  I'm  loth  to  begin  now.  We'd  bring  an 
ill  name  on  our  settlemint,  do  what  you  would  to  shield 
her;  fer  nayterally  she'd  stand  up  fer  her  kin,  an'  our  ini- 
mies  would  declare  we  had  connived  an'  consorted  to  in 
sult  an'  harem  a  female.  Now  th'r's  not  a  man  here  as 
'ud  like  that  repytation,  I  take  it." 


THE   LATIMERS.  Otf 

"True  enough  fer  you,  Jimmy  Means,"  said  the  trader; 
"we'd  not  thought  of  the  lass." 

"Moreover,"  continued  Means,  removing  his  cap  and 
brushing  back  a  stubborn  cowlick  from  his  forehead;  "we've 
got  to  allow  fer  John  Latimer  and  Andy  Burbeck.  They're 
our  frien's  of  coorse,  but  the  GinerTs  in  their  care  an' 
custody  like;  an'  I'm  mistaken  in  the  young  man  ef  he  isn't 
his  father's  son  in  high  notions  of  honor,  an'  all  that.  He'll 
stan'  to  the  last  an'  die  ef  need  be  afore  annyone  in  his 
care  shall  suffer  hurt;  an'  Andy'll  stan'  by  him  to  the  bit 
ter  ind." 

"We  don't  care  a  farden  fer  young  Latimer,  dod  rot  'im! 
— nuther  fer  Andy  Burbeck!"  cried  Ike  with  tipsy  bravado. 
"What  business  is't  o'  their'n?  A'  reckon  we're  men 
enough  fer  to  act  'ithout  advisin'  'ith  them;  an'  fer  one  A' 
meanter!" 

"Ay,  that's  as  it  may  be,  Ike,"  said  Means.  "But  it 
would  be  ill  beginnin'  our  quarrel  by  killin'  or  bein'  kilt 
by  our  frien's.  It's  no  good  blinkin'  the  fact  that  Giner'l 
Mville's  an  old  Revolutionary  soldier,  an'  Andy  Burbeck 
is  a  very  divil  whin  his  blood's  up,  an'  Jock  Latimer  has 
one  of  the  stoutest  arms  an'  surest  eyes  on  the  border. 
Now,  lads,  do  as  ye  pl'ase,  as  of  course  ye  wull  an'  oughter; 
but  don't  let  us  go  intil  anny  wild  wark  'ithout  heed  or 
hap.  Giner'l  Mville,  though  Le  were  Sattan  hisself,  has 
the  United  States  behint  him,  with  Prisident  Washington, 
Colonel  Hamilton  an'  all  the  rist;  an'  anny  harm  wrought 
him  wull  start  us  on  a  long  an'  painful  road.  We'se  beeta 
foregather  a  bit,  an'  council  with  our  neighbors  afore  com- 
mittin'  'em  unbeknownst  to  onlawful  deeds." 

These  remarks,  which  appealed  artfully  at  once  to  the 
common  sense  and  good  fellowship,  the  gallantry  and  pru 
dence  of  the  settlers,  carried  the  majority  of  the  crowd,  and 
concerted  violence  of  any  sort  was  abandoned.  But  Wild 
Ike  left  the  store  shaking  his  rifle  and  muttering,  "Jimmy 
Means  is  little  better  nor  a  dawgond  parson,  annyhow;  an' 
the  whole  gang  are  chicken-hearted  cads!"  A  small  ma 
jority  of  the  more  reckless  held  a  secret  confab  outside  the 
trader's  door,  the  result  of  which  was  that,  having  learned 
that  the  keel  boat  was  bound  for  Wheeling,  they  took  canoe 
and  paddled  vigorously  down  the  river. 

Although  the  good  sense  and  good  feeling  of  the  settlers 
had  prevailed,  they  made  the  Inspector  feel  their  ill  will 


60  THE   LATIMERS. 

quite  sensibly  as  he  left  the  tavern  to  resume  his  journey 
A  line  of  men,  with  scowling  faces  and  angry  eyes,  lined  the 
way  to  the  wharf.  Blanche  was  terrified  at  their  looks,  bui 
the  General  took  her  upon  his  arm  and  passed  on  Witt 
haughty  indifference.  As  he  reached  the  gang-plank  h( 
turned  and  doffed  his  hat,  made  a  stately  bow,  and  saic 
with  mock  courtesy:  "Gentlemen,  I  wish  you  good-day,  anc 
an  honest  and  prosperous  settlement." 

Not  to  be  bluffed  by  the  General's  coolness,  or  outdone 
in  politeness,  Means  plucked  off  his  coon-skin  cap,  returnee 
the  bow  with  a  good  imitation  of  the  General's  manner  anc 
voice,  and  said:  "Sor,  a  safe  v'yage  til  you  and  yourn  this 
time;  but  bad  cess  to  yer  plots  and  plans!  An7  de'il  pity  y( 
ef  ye  iver  set  fut  in  Steuban'ville  agin." 

"Thanks,  gentlemen,  thanks  for  your  noble  courtesy!' 
returned  the  General,  repeating  his  obeisance.  Turning  tc 
enter  the  boat  he  found  John  standing  with  vexed  visage 
who,  seizing  the  plank,  impatiently  pulled  it  in  with  g 
bang,  and  pushed  off  shore. 

"Sir/'  said  he,  addressing  the  General,  when  the  crafl 
was  well  into  the  stream,  "this  may  seem  a  merry  thing  tc 
you,  but  may  prove  a  serious  matter  to  others  who  should 
have,  methinks,  more  of  your  consideration." 

Neville  flushed,  and  seemed  about  to  take  up  the  quar 
rel;  but  further  anger  was  arrested  by  the  sharp  crack  oi 
a  rifle  from  the  shore,  and  the  whistle  of  a  bullet  over  the 
boat  so  close  to  the  General  that  it  clipped  the  crown  of  his 
chapeau  and  lifted  it  from  his  head.  The  officer  caught 
it  ere  it  fell,  and  turned  cooly  toward  the  spot  where  a 
white  puff  of  smoke,  curling  out  of  a  clump  of  underbrush, 
showed  whence  the  shot  had  issued. 

"Assassins,  by  Heaven!"  he  cried,  and  seizing  a  rifle 
which  leaned  against  the  bulwarks  near  by,  he  made  hasty 
aim  and  fired. 

"Yer  honor  might  'a  saved  yer  powder,"  remarked 
Andy;  "for  the  scapegrace  'at  'ud  fire  from  ambush  a  mur 
derous  shot  like  that,  'ud  be  coward  enough  fer  to  shelter 
his  miserable  carcass,  ye  may  depand  on't.  Good  lead  '11 
niver  ch'ate  the  gallows.  But,  Cap'n  John,  it  seems  to  me 
this  thing  looks  rather  sayrious.  Ther's  no  joke  in  bein' 
fired  at  in  that  way;  it's  a  bit  too  perrtic'lar,  ay,  an'  perr- 
miscus  likewise^,  It  seems  to  me  our  bit  booth  cuddy  here 
is  a  frail  barrier  fer  Miss  Blanche  agin  sich  clumsy  wark, 


THE   LATIMERS  61 

to  say  nothin'  of  the  Giner'l.  Them  chaps  '11  be  ahfter  us 
agin.,  as  sure  as  death  an7  taxes,  an'  we  beeta  fix  up  a  bit 
for  'em.  As  the  barber  says,  weel  soaped  is  half  shaven. 
A  good  ready's  half  the  battle." 

Andy  had  uttered  John's  thought.  He  admired  the 
cool  fearlessness  of  the  Inspector,  but  was  wroth  at  the 
imprudence  of  his  behavior,  and  inwardly  chafed  at  the 
embarrassment  of  his  own  position.  His  interest  in 
Blanche  was  deep.  He  could  not  understand,  indeed,  why 
such  concern  for  her  welfare  possessed  him.  But  he  also 
fretted  to  think  how  his  father  would  receive  this  news;  and 
moreover,  he  was  really  anxious  as  to  the  outcome  of  affairs. 
He  was  resolved  to  shield  Blanche,  whatever  might  betide, 
and  to  stand  by  the  General,  as  far  as  he  could,  as  long  as 
he  was  under  his  care;  but  evidently  something  must  be 
done.  "What  should  it  be? 

A  mile  or  more  below  the  point  where  the  shot  had  been 
fired,  a  canoe  pushed  out  from  the  bank,  and  involuntarily 
all  hands  seized  their  weapons. 

"Stop!"  said  John,  "it  is  Featherfoot." 

The  squaw  had  not  been  missed  in  the  excitement  of 
the  last  few  moments,  but  Blanche  now  informed  them 
that  she  had  left  the  boat  at  Steubenville  to  see  her  hus 
band,  and  the  fact  had  quite  escaped  her,  so  engrossed  had 
she  been  with  passing  events. 

Featherfoot  was  soon  alongside,  and  addressed  John  a 
few  words  in  the  Mingo  language.  Thereat,  the  youth 
shunted  his  craft  well  toward  the  bank,  and  when  opposite 
a  bosky  clump  the  squaw  shoved  her  canoe  stoutly  shore 
ward.  Then  Panther  appeared  for  a  moment,  and  warily 
seizing  the  boat  dragged  it  into  shelter.  It  lay  so  close 
under  the  overhanging  bushes  that  even  John  could  not 
see  it,  though  he  had  marked  where  it  was  put. 

This  done,  Featherfoot  beckoned  John  aside  and  told 
him  concisely  what  Panther  had  heard  in  and  outside  the 
trader's  cabin,  and  had  communicated  to  her.  Calling  the 
General,  John  repeated  her  story,  and  after  conference,  the 
keel  boat  was  pushed  to  the  opposite  or  Panhandle  side  of 
the  river  and  tied  up.  Then  all  hands  were  supplied  with 
axes;  Featherfoot  was  sent  into  the  woods  as  a  vidette; 
Blanche  was  set  to  watch  the  river,  and  John  led  his 
party  into  the  pine  grove  that  covered  the  shore.  Having 
directed  them  what  size  timber  to  fell,  he  fell  to  himself 


62  THE    LATIMERS. 

with  zest,  and  the  merry  play  of  axes  on  trunks  soon  filled 
the  forest  with  echoes. 

The  booth  was  next  removed,  not  without  some  regret 
ful  sentiment  on  Blanche's  part.  The  brush  on  the  bank 
above  the  boat  was  cleared  away,  and  logs,  ready  shaped 
and  sized,  wrere  rolled  down  the  slope,  which  made  easy 
work,  and  so  upon  the  boat's  deck. 

By  sunset  the  booth  had  been  replaced  by  cabin  walls 
framed  of  light  logs,  but  strong  enough  to  stop  a  rifle  bul 
let.  Slab  doors  were  swung  on  hickory  withe  hinges.  To 
finish  all,  wooden  chocks  of  divers  sizes  soon  rove  logs 
asunder,  and  a  slab  roof  was  formed,  hipped  at  one  end  to 
give  due  slope,  and  covered  with  the  sail  cloth  well 
stretched  to  ward  off  rain,  which  now  threatened.  This 
done,  camp  was  mado  for  the  night.  John  now  felt  that 
Blanche  at  least  would  be  secure  from  ordinary  assault,  and 
the  Inspector  could  be  shielded  from  such  a  dastardly  at 
tempt  as  had  befallen.  He  knew  that  no  other  of  the  party 
need  apprehend  harm,  unless  there  should  be  an  open 
attack,  and  the  boat  crew  called  to  aid  in  defense. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CONJUGAL   CONCEALMENTS. 

Mrs.  Polly  Latimer,  standing  on  the  green  near  her 
cabin  at  Canonsburg,  welcomed  her  husband  on  his  return 
from  Pittsburg.  Their  little  crop  of  flax  had  been  already 
"steeped'  or  "retted"  to  the  degree  of  softening  that  would 
permit  the  fibre  to  be  separated,  and  was  spread  upon  the 
grass  to  dry.  The  careful  housewife  was  busy  turning  it 
that  the  plants  might  weather  evenly,  when  Luke  came 
home.  The  friendly  but  not  demonstrative  greeting  over, 
the  mother  inquired  the  whereabouts  of  John,  and  was  not 
pleased  with  the  reply.  She  deemed  Luke  over-squeamish 
in  refusing  the  Inspector's  custom,  and  wished  he  would  be 
as  nice  about  some  other  folk  she  wot  of.  She  opined 
strongly  that  he  was  like  to  go  clean  daft  on  the  revenue 
business,  and  that  if  he  knew  what  was  for  his  good  he 
would  let  the  "Whiskey  Boys"  alone. 

"Ay,  ay/'  grumbled  Luke,  "I  might  'a  knowed  which 


THE   LATIMERS.  63 

way  the  wind  'ud  blow  with  you,  whin  the  parson  an'  the 
b'y  are  both  on  the  side  of  the  axcise  men.  You  beeta  mind 
the  flax,  an'  let  men  alone  to  look  after  ceevil  affairs." 

"Highty-tighty!"  cried  the  dame,  giving  a  bunch  of 
plants  a  lusty  toss,  and  turning  upon  her  spouse.  "Ceevil 
affairs,  indade!  Ye'd  do  well  to  kape  a  ceevil  tongue  in  yer 
head,  Luke  Latimer.  One  dassent  say  boo  til  you  nowa 
days,  ye've  grown  so  techy.  I'd  like  to  know  whose  busi 
ness  it  is,  if  not  mine,  to  kape  ye  out  of  mischief  an'  my 
self  out  of  trouble?  I  misdoubt  ye'll  be  Fadin'  off  the  lad, 
too;  though,  thank  goodness!  he's  got  a  head  of  his  own,  an' 
he's  quite  beyant  ye  in  some  things.  Ye'd  be  none  the 
warse  yerself  fer  takin'  the  meenister's  counsel.  I  don't 
know  what's  got  intil  ye,  mon;  what  with  yer  argyfyin',  an' 
saycret  doin's,  an'  night  prowlin',  ye're  on  a  conteenooal 
strain,  an'  kape  yer  timper  hated  an'  staymin'  like  a  tay  pot. 
Shame  a  haet  '11  come  of  it  but  ill  to  you  an'  yourn,  Luke 
Latimer!  An'  that's  an  honest  opeenion  an  ye  niver  git 
another."  Thereupon  the  irate  dame  drew  down  her  frock 
sleeves,  one  arm  after  another,  and  smoothed  out  the 
creases;  then  taking  her  apron  at  either  end,  threw  it  out 
ward  with  a  flirt  as  though  tossing  from  her  bits  of  rubbish. 
That  was  a  way  Mrs.  Polly  had  when  her  mind  was  vexed 
with  affairs. 

Luke,  knowing  well  the  sign,  and  not  caring  further  to 
provoke  his  wife,  softened  his  tone  and  said:  "Wull,  Polly, 
thar's  no  nade  fer  til  carry  on  so  about  the  matter,  anny- 
how.  I  meant  no  harem,  I'm  sure;  an'  if  ye'll  git  the  sup 
per  ready,  fer  I'm  mortal  hungry,  I'll  turn  the  flax  fer  ye." 

"Ay,  Luke,  ye  shall  have  bite  an'  sup  without  delay, 
though  I  wasn't  lookin'  fer  ye;  but  that  makes  little  differ. 
Yit,  sence  ye  've  opened  the  way  I'll  e'en  go  til  the  ind  on't. 
I've  been  a-hankerin'  fer  til  spake  ma  mind  til  ye  on  this 
whole  business.  I  know  ma  duty,  as  well  as  anny  woman; 
an'  though  I've  fallen  short  in  some  things,  I  wot  well,  I've 
niver  been  a  fussy  or  interfarein'  wife,  ye'll  allow.  But  I 
millike  these  quare  goin's  on  about  the  axcise,  an'  I'm  sure 
they  betoken  no  good.  Whin  men  git  to  rangin'  the 
country  at  night,  an'  a-coverin'  up  their  minds  an'  deeds 
from  their  fambly,  an'  a-caucusin'  in  saycret — " 

"Why  Polly,  lass,"  interrupted  Luke,  "whativer  pit 
sich  notions  intil  yer  head?" 

"Luke  Latimer/'  retorted  Polly,  turning  her  eyes  full 


64  THE   LATIMERS. 

upon  him,  "ye  can't  desave  me,  an'  there's  no  use  a-tiyin' 
it.  Ye're  not  one  'f  the  saycret  kind,  an'  niver  was  cut  ou\ 
fer  spy  or  plotter.  Ay,  mon,  ye  can't  desave  me!  I've  not 
lived  thirty  year  with  ye,  agin  next  Friday,  which  is  our 
weddin'  day,  without  a-knowin'  ye  through  an'  through. 
Ye're  by  far  too  honest  a  man  to  be  intreegin'  an'  traitorin' 
with  the  like  of  Dave  Bradford.  He's  a  traitor  an'  a  sneak, 
that  Bradford  is,  if  there  iver  was  wan,  and  he'll  lade  ye 
intil  tr'ason;  an'  a  sorry  figure  ye'd  cut,  Luke  Latimer, 
a-swingin'  at  the  tail  ind  of  a  hempen  cord!  0  dear,  dear! 
what  then  'ud  become  o'  me?"  The  good  woman,  deeply 
moved  by  the  grim  image  her  fancy  had  conjured  up,  burst 
into  tears. 

Luke  was  a  soft-hearted  man,  and  could  not  bide 
woman's  weeping;  and  though  he  had  been  glowering  with 
mingled  surprise  and  vexation  during  Polly's  outbreak, 
his  wrath  was  dissolved  before  her  tears.  So  soothing  her, 
as  he  had  well  learned  to  do,  he  persuaded  her  into  the 
house.  Thus  that  domestic  riffle  was  smoothed  over. 

But  withal,  the  man  chafed  under  the  thought  that  his 
wife's  suspicion  had  set  her  on  a  true  trail;  and  feared 
too,  though  he  repulsed  the  idea  indignantly,  that  she  had 
read  him  more  truly  than  he  had  read  himself.  In  her 
momentary  outburst  she  had  set  before  him  a  mirror,  and 
though  it  was  but  a  glance  he  caught,  that  glimpse  revealed 
to  his  consciousness  an  image  of  himself  which,  undefined, 
yet  half  suspected,  had  haunted  his  brain.  And  the  image 
did  not  add  to  his  self-approbation. 

"Tut!"  he  said  inwardly,  and  tried  to  banish  the  mat 
ter.  "What  can  a  woman  know  of  such  affairs?  Polly's 
fidgety  about  her  boy,  I  fancy;  or  mayhap  it's  wan  of  her 
spells.  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  her  betimes;  she 
broods  an'  vapors  sadly.  I  suppose  its  narvousness."  Thus 
covering  all  consequences  of  his  own  irritating  behavior, 
and  accounting  for  all  his  wife's  frets  and  humors  under 
that  most  convenient  term,  he  took  up  the  fork  and  tossed 
and  turned  flax  until  called  to  his  supper. 

The  Latimer  cabin  was  one  of  the  best  in  the  village, 
for  the  main  house  was  bi  ilt  higher  and  wider  than  com 
mon,  and  had  a  small  entry  to  the  door  from  which  a  rude 
stairway  ascended  to  an  upper  room,  which,  by  the  great 
height  of  the  building,  was  something  more  than  a  loft.  In 
this  John  had  his  lodgings.  Moreover,  the  cabin  was 


THE   LATIMEES.  65 

double,  having  a  roofed  porch  closed  on  one  side  which 
connected,  by  a  doorway  cut  in  the  gable,  with  a  smaller 
cabin.  This  had  no  fireplace,  and  was  used  chiefly  as  a 
storehouse.  Wooden  pins  and  buckhorn  brackets  were 
fastened  into  the  log  walls  of  the  porch,  and  thereon  hung 
saddles,  bridles,  harness,  flails,  sickles,  empty  powder  horns, 
old  leggings  and  various  implements  and  objects  of  hus 
bandry  and  household  and  personal  use. 

These  were  of  a  miscellaneous  sort,  as  might  be  ex 
pected  from  the  varied  vocations  of  the  inmates.  Here 
stood  a  loom  for  weaving  flax  or  buffalo  hair,  or  wool  when 
it  could  be  had.  Here  was  an  old  wooden  cylindrical  churn 
with  its  dasher-stick  standing  out  of  the  top.  Here  in  sum 
mer  time  was  placed  the  home-made  dining  table,  that  the 
family  meals  might  be  had  in  the  pleasant  open  air;  and 
here  Mrs.  Polly  now  served  her  supper. 

The  Latimers  were  well-to-do,  as  the  phrase  went,  for 
Polly  was  a  canny  housekeeper,  and  Luke  was  somewhat 
"near/'  as  the  neighbors  thought,  but  was  far  from  being 
miserly,  especially  in  aught  that  bore  upon  comfort  of  wife 
or  son.  So  they  ate  their  meal  with  relish,  and  talked  over 
their  affairs  with  that  content  which  is  wont  to  mark  the 
conversation  of  folk  with  solid  possessions.  By  mutual  con 
sent,  the  mooted  question  was  not  broached;  but  like  a  top 
sawyer  in  the  Ohio  Eiver,  it  bobbed  to  the  surface  when 
least  expected. 

Polly  took  occasion  to  tell  how  she  had  arranged  to  have 
the  negro  man  brake  the  flax  upon  the  morrow;  but  Luke 
could  do  that  himself  or  aid  therein;  which  he,  being  a 
muscular  man,  willingly  agreed  to  do.  Then  the  mistress 
proposed  a  swingling  frolic;  to  which  Luke  also  consent 
ing,  Polly  continued  that  she  had  bidden  the  neighbors  for 
Friday  next  which,  being  their  wedding-day,  she  thought 
would  be  seemly.  True,  she  regretted  John's  absence;  so 
would  Luke,  she  knew;  for  though  John  had  taken  no 
fancy  to  any  of  the  maidens  (and  that  maybe  was  well 
enough),  yet  he  was  a  royal  hand  at  making  a  frolic  go  off 
blithely,  and  would  be  bravely  missed  at  the  evening  sports, 
when  the  lasses  came  in. 

"Friday,  did  ye  say?"  asked  Luke. 

"Ay,  and  why  not?"  answered  Polly.  "It's  a  slack  time 
among  farmers,  an'  there's  fair  moon  for  the  goin'  an' 
comin'  o'  nights."  Observing  a  flush  on  her  husband's 
5 


66  THE    LATIMERS. 

cheeks,  and  a  troubled  look  in  his  eye,  as  though  he  were 
not  favorable  to  the  arrangement,  she  modestly  added,  "It's 
our  weddin'  day,  Luke.  Thirty  year  wull  we  be  wed  that 
day;  an'  the  good  God  has  kep'  us  through  all;  an'  though 
manny's  the  sorrow  an'  burden  we've  borne  thegither,  yet 
His  goodness  and  marcy  have  followed  us.  I  know  no  bet 
ter  day  nor  that  for  merry-makin'.  Ye've  no  call  to  be 
away  on  that  day,  Luke,  have  ye  ?" 

"Ay,  Polly,  I  had,  indade,"  said  Luke;  then  added  with 
brightened  face,  "I  dar  say  it's  all  right.  I  can  make 
arrangements  to  suit,  I  doubt  not.  Annyhow,  go  ahead, 
lass,  an'  I'll  make  the  best  of  it,  an'  we'll  have  a  jolly  time." 
Thus  saying,  he  rose  from  the  table  and  went  forth  to  look 
after  the  cattle. 

"There  it  is  agin!"  thought  Polly,  as  she  went  about 
clearing  the  supper  dishes.  "It's  somethin'  about  yon 
plaguey  axcise  meetin's,  I  ventur;  an'  Bradford's  at  the 
bottom  of  it,  the  miserable  snake  in  the  grass!"  She  was 
wise  enough  to  keep  her  thoughts  to  herself,  and  was  well 
content  with  herself  for  doing  so  when  anon  Luke  came  in, 
and  saying  he  was  going  to  the  tavern  to  meet  some  gen 
tlemen  on  business,  bade  her  not  to  wait  up  for  him,  as  he 
would  not  be  home  early.  Not  a  word  the  good  wife  spoke, 
but  her  countenance  fell  as  he  left  her. 

"Ay,  business!"  she  muttered,  as  her  eye  followed  her 
husband's  form.  "It's  a  poor  payin'  business,  I  vow.  Ill 
betide  the  day  whin  that  mon  Bradford  lighted  upon  my 
Luke.  Ah,  well!  what  right  have  I  to  complain?  He's  bet 
ter  nor  me,  I  ween.  Oh  Lord,  good  Lord,  forgive  me!  It's 
a  hypocrite  I  am,  to  chide  him  for  saycret  doin's,  an'  all 
these  years — " 

Whatever  image  rose  before  her  she  dashed  away,  and 
hurried  off  to  household  duties,  which  chanced  just  then  to 
be  the  homely  work  of  making  tallow-dip  candles,  which 
would  be  needed  against  the  frolic.  Luke  had  brought  her 
from  the  South  some  cotton  yarn  for  wicks,  which  was  a 
great  improvement  en  the  old  linsey  lint,  she  thought;  but 
she  was  longing  for  a  set  of  moulds  which  she  had  heard 
some  neighbors  speak  of.  A  proud  night  it  would  be  when 
she  could  show  her  gossips  good  moulded  candles;  but  at 
present  they  must  be  content  with  the  old-fashioned  dips. 

Thus  inwardly  conversing,  she  looped  her  strings  of 
wicks  upon  sticks,  a  half  dozen  upon  a  stick,  and  put  her 


THE   LATIMERS.  67 

tallow  to  melt  upon  the  coals.  Now  the  unctuous  liquid 
was  poured  into  a  wooden  firkin,  and  holding  up  a  stick,  an 
end  in  either  hand,  she  plunged  the  wicks  thereinto.  Lift 
ing  them  next,  and  resting  the  wood  across  an  empty  ves 
sel's  edge,  she  took  up  another  stickful,  dipped  it  likewise 
into  the  tallow  and  left  it  to  drip.  Now  the  first  stick  was 
taken,  when  the  melted  fat  had  hardened  along  the  wicks, 
which  were  once  more  soused  into  the  liquid,  gathering 
thereby  a  new  coating.  So  on,  one  stick  after  another,  the 
wicks  getting  about  them  at  every  dip  a  new  layer,  until 
enough  had  gathered  to  make  the  thickness  of  one's  thumb. 
Then  the  sticks  were  hung  in  the  porch  to  cool,  each  with 
its  six  candles  swinging  by  the  top  loop  of  the  doubled 
string.  In  due  time  these  would  be  slipped  off,  tallow  dips 
ready  for  evening  lights. 

Twilight  was  already  past  and  night  come  ere  this  task 
was  ended,  and  Mrs.  Latimer  felt  lonely.  Taking  a  candle  in 
hand  she  mounted  to  John's  room  in  the  loft.  It  was  her 
fancy,  when  the  men  were  absent,  or  when  troubled  with  a 
fit  of  the  vapors,  to  go  up  there  and  brood  over  affairs. 
There  was  the  cradle  in  which  her  baby  boy  had  been 
rocked;  and  putting  the  candle  on  a  three-legged  slab  that 
answered  for  a  stand,  she  sat  down  before  it  with  elbows  to 
knee,  and  cheeks  resting  in  her  palms.  It  was  a  humble 
affair,  that  cradle;  only  half  a  keg  or  cask  which  had  been 
cut  in  the  middle  and  lengthwise,  and  the  rounded  part, 
after  being  well  braced,  set  upon  rock,  rough  hewed  with 
a  broadaxe.  It  was  wadded  within,  and  fitted  with  a  bear 
skin  mattress,  above  which  was  a  little  blanket  and  counter 
pane  of  patchwork.  That  was  all. 

Why  had  she  kept  it?  It  would  nevermore  be  of  use  to 
her,  a  matron  of  five  and  forty  now;  and  John's  weans 
would  be  rocked  in  daintier  ware  than  that.  Ay,  the  times 
had  changed!  Old-fashioned  ways  were  going  out.  Folk 
were  getting  luxurious  nowadays.  What  would  they  be 
coming  to  next?  Yet  it  had  been  good  enough  for  her,  that 
cradle,  in  its  day,  and  bravely  had  served  its  end.  But  why 
had  she  kept  it;  kept  it  in  all  her  movings,  though  Luke 
wondered  and  neighbors  sneered?  Kept  it,  though  moths 
had  assaulted  the  furnishings,  cloth  and  fur  alike,  and 
twice  or  thrice  a  year  must  she  beat  and  fume  and  tend  and 
dust  it  over?  There  are  mothers  perhaps  who  can  solve  the 
wonder,  and  tell  why  Polly  Latimer  had  cherished  this  relic 
of  bygone  baby  days. 


68  THE    LATIMERS. 

Now  rubbing  the  tears  from  her  eyes  with  the  corner 
of  her  apron,  she  moved  about  the  room,  stopping  to  finger 
this  or  that  article,  dust  it  and  put  it  exactly  back  whence 
it  came.  John  was  a  bookish  lad,  and  had  gathered  his 
little  library  with  great  pains  and  cost.  The  volumes  stood 
on  shelves  made  by  setting  pegs  between  the  logs  and  lay 
ing  clapboards  thereon  one  above  another.  They  were 
chiefly  classical  and  mathematical  works  for  his  studies,  and 
religious  books  of  the  evangelical  sort  our  fathers  fancied. 
But  there  were  also  well-thumbed  copies  of  Bunyan's  "Pil 
grim's  Progress/'  Milton's  "Paradise  Lost,"  and,  most  val 
ued  of  all  by  the  owner,  a  volume  of  Shakespeare's  plays. 
Only  one  volume,  alas,  for  it  was  a  broken  set,  which  some 
how  had  drifted  over  the  mountains  and  so  to  John's 
hands.  Polly  put  it  back  again,  with  a  shake  of  the  head, 
as  if  doubtful  what  might  come  of  such  light  reading.  She 
liked  not  even  the  name  of  play;  it  savored  of  vanities  she 
had  been  taught  to  hold  as  most  unwholesome. 

Last  of  all,  the  mother's  fingers  lit  upon  a  book  which 
she  fondled  lovingly,  and  taking  in  hand  sat  down  by  the 
candle  to  look  it  over.  It  was  a  chubby  volume,  with 
heavy  backs  and  two  brazen  clasps  which,  in  modern  hands, 
would  be  thought  cumbersome,  but  wras  known  to  the  men 
of  that  century  as  a  pocket  Bible.  Turning  over  the  leaves, 
Polly  lamented  first  that  John  had  left  the  book  at  home. 
It  boded  ill,  thought  she,  that  a  lad  could  forget  such  a 
treasure.  Indeed,  she  had  believed  that  he  had  it  with  him, 
for  she  had  felt  it  in  his  breast  when  he  kissed  her  good 
bye.  But,  poor  lad,  maybe  he  deemed  it  too  precious  to 
risk  on  his  voyages;  as  indeed  it  is!  *  *  *  Ay,  good 
Heaven,  will  he  find  it  out  some  day?  Leastwise,  she  will 
try  to  tell  him,  God  helping  her!  So  she  drifted  away  into 
mental  chidings  for  neglect  of  religious  duties,  and  silent 
prayers  for  the  Divine  aid  in  all  her  doings. 

As  she  turned  the  sacred  volume,  stopping  to  read  a 
marked  verse  here  and  there,  her  thoughts  went  back  to 
the  early  days  at  Indian  Eocks,  when  John  was  a  baby  and 
little  Moses  came  to  them  on  the  crest  of  the  angry  flood. 
That  Bible  was  in  the  cradle  with  the  rescued  child,  as  if 
the  mother  or  nurse  had  been  reading  it  when  the  waters 
came  up,  and  cast  it  suddenly  down  upon  the  infant's  bed 
ding,  and  never  came  back  to  book  or  baby.  The  Bible  she 
had  given  to  John  when  old  enough  to  read,  but  she  had 


THE    LATIMERS. 


69 


put  carefully  away  the  beads  and  locket  and  baby  clothes, 
and  other  reminders  of  the  river  waif.  There  they  were  in 
that  little  handcase  on  the  stand  covered  with  red-dressed 
leather,  with  round  brazen-headed  tacks  over  it,  and  a  lock 
without  a  key.  Even  then,  though  twenty  years  had  gone, 
the  kind-hearted  woman  wept  as  she  thought  of  the  dead 
child;  and  the  image  of  his  pale,  sweet  face  came  to  her; 
and  the  wee  grave  in  the  tangled  forest,  side  by  side  with 
the  mound  where  they  had  buried  Bended  Knee,  his  hoary 
head  gory  with  the  wounds  of  the  Indian  fray. 

Ah,  that  Indian  raid!  And  that  awful  night!  And, 
alas,  her  sunny-haired  Meg,  her  blue-eyed  daughter! 
Where  was  she?  Was  she  dead?  Had  the  savages  spared 
and  adopted  her,  as  was  often  their  wont?  And  if  so? — her 
heart  stood  still  at  the  thought  of  what  she  might  be,  a 
savage  herself  and  the  mother  of  savage  children!  Then 
she  fell  upon  her  knees,  with  the  book  open  before  her,  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  wept  again  and  prayed; 
and  feeling  relieved  thereby,  put  back  the  Bible  to  its  shelf 
and  so  to  her  bed. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

LUKE  MEETS  THE  JUNTA. 

Meanwhile  Luke  Latimer  had  come  to  the  tavern  which 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  the  main  highway  through 
the  Chartiers  Valley.  His  friends  were  soon  there  to  meet 
him,  and  Polly  had  shrewdly  guessed,  for  Bradford  was  at 
their  head,  and  the  business  of  the  evening  concerned 
divers  affairs  which  may  yet  find  record.  There  were  eight 
persons,  some  of  them  men  of  substance,  of  whose  personal 
history  it  will  be  well  to  take  brief  note. 

Col.  James  Marshall  was  an  early  settler  in  the  western 
counties,  and  a  zealous  forwarder  of  independence;  had 
been  high  sheriff,  county  lieutenant,  legislator  and  registrar 
of  Washington  County.  He  was  counted  a  discreet  and 
moderate  man  by  his  fellow  citizens  and  was  industrious 
and  prosperous.  His  steady,  reputable  and  conservative 
character  made  him  a  difficult  subject  for  a  political  chief 
to  handle;  but,  once  committed,  he  was  a  formidable  aid. 


70  THE    LATIMERS. 

He  had  come  from  the  north  of  Ireland  in  his  youth.  Ben 
jamin  Parkinson  was  a  Pennsylvanian,  and  the  president 
of  the  Mingo  Creek  Democratic  Association.  John  Cannon 
was  a  respectable  citizen  of  the  village  which  bore  his 
name;  he  had  been  a  member  of  the  legislature  and  advo 
cated  the  forming  of  a  new  State  from  the  western  counties. 
Andrew  Fulton  was  a  distiller  who  had  favored  the  excise 
laws  originally,  but  had  changed  his  views  and  joined  the 
agitators  against  them.  Besides  these  there  were  Thomas 
Specs  who  kept  a  store  in  Canonsburg  and  a  miller  named 
Lockry. 

David  Bradford,  the  chief  figure  in  this  junta,  had  orig 
inally  come  from  Maryland,  where  he  had  studied  law;  had 
served  in  the  Virginia  Assembly  before  the  settling  of  the 
State  boundary  lines;  and  he  still  practiced  law  in  that 
State.  He  had  advocated  the  Federal  Constitution,  but 
now  wanted  a  new  State,  deeming,  no  doubt,  that  therein 
he  would  reach  position  and  advantage  that  could  never  be 
his  under  the  old  State  government.  He  had  followed  with 
deep  interest  the  surgings  of  the  French  Revolution,  with 
which  he  was  in  profound  sympathy,  admiring  the  methods 
of  the  French  clubs,  particularly  the  Jacobin  Club,  which 
he  sought  to  reproduce  in  America,  and  meant  to  wield  for 
his  own  purposes.  He  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  around 
which  the  group  was  gathered,  their  forms  illumined  by 
two  tallow  candles. 

Bradford,  thus  sitting  with  his  junta,  told  why  he  had 
called  them  together.  There  was  important  work  to  be 
done  at  the  special  meeting  of  the  Democratic  Association 
to  be  held  next  Friday  evening.  "Now,  gentlemen,"  he 
continued,  "we  must  not  let  affairs  lag  for  lack  of  urging. 
We've  much  to  contend  with,  and  if  we  once  show  the  white 
feather  we're  lost.  The  ministers  are  against  us,  and  Doc 
tor  McMillan  especially  is  bitter  and  determined.  A  good 
many  of  the  distillers  are  inclined  to  give  up,  enter  their 
stills  in  the  Inspector's  books,  and  do  a  regular  business. 
It  isn't  every  one  who  is  willing  to  show  the  patriotism'  of 
Mr.  Fulton,  our  associate,  and  band  with  us  against  the 
excise  laws  when  they  might  make  their  own  peace  with  the 
Government,  and  so  monopolize  business  and  eat  up  the  lit 
tle  stills.  We  can't  trust  the  leaders  of  the  militia,  for,  like 
Gen.  Neville,  they'll  most  of  them  in  the  end  side  with  the 


THE    LATIMERS.  71 

"Who,  then/'  asked  Col.  Marshall,  "can  we  depand  on? 
It  looks  from  that  tally  as  if  purty  much  all  the  power  was 
on  their  wheel  and  none  on  ours;  an'  they'll  git  the  grist 
while  the  hulls  stick  to  our  hopper."  Marshall  was  a  miller 
and  his  tropes  had  the  flavor  of  his  trade. 

"Whom  can  we  depend  on?"  retorted  Bradford.  "First 
of  all  on  ourselves;  don't  let  us  forget  that.  But  our  chief 
dependence  is  on  the  people.  The  instincts  of  office  majve 
tyrants  of  all  rulers.  We  thought  we'd  rooted  out  aristoc 
racy  by  the  war  for  independence,  but  it's  as  strong  as  ever. 
True,  the  Constitution  has  voided  and  banned  titles  of 
nobility,  but  the  fact  is  here  all  the  same,  if  the  name  isn't, 
and  the  Order  of  the  Cincinnati  has  even  revived  the  name. 
We  must  appeal  to  the  people;  to  the  pure  democracy,  like 
the  Greek  republics  of  old,  ay,  like  the  French  Republic 
of  to-day." 

He  had  waxed  louder  in  his  speech,  which  he  was  con 
tinuing  in  the  same  strain,  when  Luke  reminded  him  that 
the  window  was  open,  for  the  August  night  was  warm,  and 
there  might  be  ears  at  the  vent.  Better  speak  low,  he 
thought;  and  was  there  a  guard  before  the  window? 

"There  speaks  the  true  scout,"  said  Bradford.  "But 
this  time  I  anticipated  you,  and  set  a  vidette  in  the  yard  to 
guard  approach  and  give  warning."  Then  resuming  his 
speech  he  said,  pointing  across  the  table,  "Now  here's  Mr. 
Ben  Parkinson,  the  president  of  the  Mingo  Democratic 
Association;  and  here's  Mr.  Canon,  the  president  of  the 
Chartiers  Association.  They  represent  the  people,  and 
they  may  be  trusted  to  stand  up  for  democratic  rights. 
Moreover,  their  societies  are  well  organized  and  drilled,  and 
most  of  them  are  armed,  and  so  ready  for  any  emergency." 

"But,  Squire  Bradford,"  Marshall  interposed,  "these 
don't  constitute  all  the  people.  We  want  a  united  effort. 
I'm  not  prepared  to  take  steps  for  to  divide  our  communi 
ties  intil  hostyle  camps.  Let  us  be  sure  of  success,  or  draw 
back  while  it's  time." 

"Nothing  venture,  nothing  have!"  remarked  Bradford, 
with  a  sounding  oratorical  manner. 

"Ay,  no  doubt.  But  well  soaped  is  half  shaven!"  re 
torted  Marshall.  "Thorough  preparation's  half  the  battle. 
We  behove  to  get  ready  if  we're  to  jine  issue  with  the  gov 
ernment." 

Bradford   smiled   at   the   quaint   earnestness   of   the 


72'  THE    LATIMEKS. 

speaker,  well  knowing  that  nothing  so  placates  as  acknowl 
edgment  of  a  man's  sallies  of  wit.  "Well  said,  indeed!"  lie 
remarked;  "and  yet  I  don't  see  where  there's  overmuch  of  a 
venture.  We  can  rely  upon  almost  every  pioneer  and 
ranger  in  the  Virginia  districts  and  along  the  Ohio." 

"True,  but  they'll  soon  be  off  with  Wayne  after  the 
Indians,"  said  Luke. 

"We'll  have  plenty  of  time  for  our  business  before 
Wayne  is  ready,"  answered  Bradford.  "Then,  nearly  all 
the  newcomers  from  the  North  of  Ireland  will  join  us. 
They're  fresh  from  the  old  despotism,  and  hate  excise  laws 
as  the  badge  of  their  ancient  oppressors  and  tyrannical  land 
owners.  As  to  the  parsons,  just  let  us  let  'em  alone  and  go 
ahead;  they'll  follow  the  flock,  you  may  depend,  when  they 
see  they  can't  lead  it." 

At  this  several  of  the  junta  uttered  expressions  of 
mocking  dissent,  and  made  Mr.  Bradford  to  understand 
that  he  didn't  know  the  unyielding  granite  of  that  sturdy 
generation  of  pioneer  pastors,  or  he  wouldn't  say  that. 

"Well,  maybe  so;  but  let  'em  keep  to  their  pulpits  and 
prayers!  It's  none  of  their  business  to  be  intermeddling 
with  politics." 

"Humph!"  remarked  Col.  Marshall,  "so  I  think  m'self. 
But  that's  what  some  folk  thought  of  the  old  Screepter 
prophets,  if  I  mind  aright.  Howiver,  it  makes  small  differ 
the  now.  Let's  hear  y'r  plans  an'  we'll  know  how  til 
advise.  Most  of  us  are  well  commeetted,  an'  are  ready  for 
to  go  on  with  aught  that's  r'asonable." 

"Very  good,"  said  Bradford.  "We  must  keep  up  the 
threatening  methods  which  we  have  adopted.  Eoseberry 
has  been  tarred  and  feathered  for  advocating  excise  laws. 
That's  well;  and  we  must  fit  the  same  coat  on  some  more 
of  the  blathering  agitators.  Then,  witnesses  against  the 
parties  who  disciplined  Wilson  for  trying  to  serve  his  mis 
erable  warrants,  were  seized  and  carried  off,  and  that  will 
be  a  wholesome  lesson  to  other  informers  and  give  security 
to  our  fellows." 

"I  didn't  know  it  was  men  of  our  Association  who  did 
that,"  Luke  remarked.  "An'  I  lettle  like  sich  maskin's  an' 
seizin's.  What  came  of  the  witnesses?" 

"Oh,  they're  safe  enough;  no  harm  came  to  them.  But 
they  '11  hardly  get  to  the  trial;  they've  changed  their  minds 
about  that  matter.  Now,  I  propose  that  we  aim  a  blow  at 


THE   LATIMERS.  73 

those  who  are  letting  their  houses  for  revenue  offices.  We 
must  make  it  so  hot  that  no  man  will  dare  to  harbor  excise 
men.  We'll  get  rid  of  the  squirrels  if  we  cut  down  the 
trees;  or,  as  old  John  Knox  once  said  of  the  monks  and 
priests,  if  we  want  to  be  rid  of  the  rooks  we  must  tear  down 
the  rookeries.  Then  these  people  who  are  entering  their 
stills  must  be  advised  that  it  won't  do.  If  the  'stillers  hold 
together,  we'll  carry  our  point;  if  not,  the  jig's  up.  We 
want  some  hearty  measures  here,  and  I've  two  names  to 
begin  on,  James  Kiddoe  and  William  Coughran.  Have  I 
your  approval?  I'll  see  it  done  and  won't  call  on  any  of 
you,  unless  you'd  like  to  volunteer  for  the  work?" 

Which  no  one  doing  just  then,  Bradford  proceeded 
to  unfold  the  chief  plot  in  his  busy  noddle,  which  was  no 
less  than  to  seize  and  carry  off  the  Inspector.  That  was  a 
bold  stroke,  to  be  sure!  It  seemed  just  enough,  Luke  Lati- 
mer  thought,  for  was  not  Gen.  Neville  the  chief  offender? 
It  was  a  sneaking  business  to  kill  the  cubs  and  let  the  old 
bear  go.  Besides,  he  was  a  traitor  to  the  cause.  He  had 
been  exceeding  mad  against  the  excisemen;  had  at  one  time 
even  commended  the  harsh  measures  they  themselves  were 
now  planning.  Luke  had  nothing  but  contempt  and  hatred 
for  the  man,  and  would  be  glad  to  see  him  trapped  like 
a  beaver.  But  what  would  they  do  with  him?  Luke  would 
have  no  bloodshed;  at  least,  except  in  open,  honorable  com 
bat.  There  was  the  difficulty,  in  his  thinking;  what  could 
they  do  with  the  Inspector?  A  man  might  catch  a  wolf  by 
the  ears  if  so  minded,  but  what  then?  Easier  caught,  per 
haps,  than  let  go. 

Bradford  didn't  propose  to  injure  the  Inspector,  only 
to  keep  him  in  quad  a  few  days,  thoroughly  alarm  him,  and 
release  him  onlv  on  condition  that  he  resign  the  office  and 
never  more  serve. 

Col.  Marshall  thought  that  would  do  nicely  if  it  worked; 
which,  by  the  way,  was  the  trouble  with  so  many  new-fan 
gled  things  that  seemed  well  enough  to  the  ear,  but  failed 
in  execution.  And,  if  the  Inspector  were  seized  and  spir 
ited  away,  broken  hornets'  nests  would  be  nothing  to  the 
consequences!  The  Government  would  be  so  openly  chal 
lenged  that  it  would  have  to  do  .something  and  would  light 
upon  them  with  all  its  forces.  And  what  then? 

"Ay,  what  then?"  exclaimed  Bradford;  "why  then  vic 
tory,  to  be  sure;  the  right  to  free  distilling,  a  new  State  for 


74  THE    LATIMEKS. 

the  Trans-Allegheny  region,  and  perhaps — but  never 
mind!"  The  arch  plotter  would  go  no  farther  with  his 
dream  of  a  Southwestern  Republic.  "Such  a  bold  stroke 
would  cast  the  die.  Men  would  have  to  come  out  and 
choose  sides,  and  if  matters  were  conducted  aright  they 
would  be  sure,  most  of  them,  to  side  with  our  bold  and  or 
ganized  band.  Besides,  it  is  quite  out  of  the  question  that 
Washington  and  his  administration  should  think  seriously 
of  armed  coercion.  What  had  they  to  gain  by  it?  A 
month's  expedition  would  cost  more  than  ten  years'  excise 
income;  and  if  worse  came  to  worst,  a  regiment  of  deter 
mined  Western  men  could  hold  the  mountain  passes  against 
the  whole  Atlantic  seaboard/' 

All  this  was  fair  sailing  for  the  conspirator,  but  he 
struck  a  snag  when  least  looking  for  it.  He  had  heard  of 
Gen.  Neville's  visit  to  Wheeling,  and  knew,  through  what 
channels  he  said  not,  that  thence  he  would  cross  the 
country  by  the  Virginia  Pan  Handle  (as  we  now  call  it) 
and  organize  his  excise  work  at  Washington  town.  A  short 
trip  that,  of  twenty  miles  or  so,  and  he  could  be  seized  on 
the  road.  Or  perhaps  better,  they  could  capture  him  on 
board  the  keel  boat  at  Wheeling  Creek  wharf.  "All  the 
more  readily,"  he  concluded,  "since  our  good  friend  Luke 
Latimer  is  the  proprietor  of  the  boat,  and  his  son  John  is  in 
charge." 

"Stop  jist  thar,  Squire!"  broke  in  Luke,  with  no  gentle 
cadence  to  his  speech.  "Nuther  I  nor  ma  son  nor  ma  boat 
wull  have  aught  to  do  with  sich  a  schame.  It  w'uld  be  moot 
despiseable  to  have  a  man  inunder  my  care  dealt  foully 
with;  an'  it  shall  niver  be!  Besides,  there's  a  lady  with  the 
Inspector  on  the  boat;  an'  no  hair  of  her  head  shall  be 
harmed,  an'  no  disrespect  or  damage  wrought  her  feelin's. 
Jist  drop  that  plan,  pl'ase,  wanct  for  all!" 

"Oh,"  began  the  conspirator  chief,  not  yet  knowing 
.well  his  man,  "we've  no  thought  of  hurting  the  lady.  It's 
the  Inspector  himself  we're  after;  and  there  need  be  no 
responsibility  with  you  for  the  act  of  the  citizens.  The 
public  would  know  nothing  about  your  part  in  it;  and  if 
they  did,  it's  small  blame  you'd  get." 

"Now,  Squire  Bradford,"  retorted  Luke,  "you've  a  glib 
tongue  in  y'r  head,  no  doubt,  an'  can  both  lade  an'  con 
vince  us  in  all  r'asonable  ways;  but  here's  a  p'int  quite  be- 
yant  ye.  Do  ye  suppose  John  Latimer  'ud  allow  folk 


THE    LATIMERS.  75 

whom  he'd  agreed  to  pilot  up  an'  down  the  river  to  come 
to  harm  in  his  hands  without  a  blow  in  their  behoof?  He'd 
die  thar  on  his  deck,  ruther'n  see  Sattan  himself  pulled 
out  of  the  keel  boat,  if  he  wair  one  of  his  passengers.  If 
ye  can  git  holt  of  Neville  after  he's  left  John's  care  an' 
charge,  well  an'  good.  But  if  not,  I'm  fornenst  ye  ivery 
time,  an'  all  the  time.  I'll  go  so  fur  with  ye,  but  won't  stir 
a  peg  furder." 

"Hist!"  said  Bradford.  There  was  a  noise  of  tram 
pling  feet  outside  the  window.  "Eavesdroppers!  Down 
with  the  candles!"  The  lights  were  set  under  the  table, 
leaving  the  men's  forms  in  deep  shadow,  and  then  all  was 
still. 

"Mr.  Latimer,  will  you  play  scout  for  us  and  see  what's 
the  matter  outside?"  said  Bradford. 

Luke,  nothing  loath,  left  the  room  and  stealthily  crept 
to  the  rear  of  the  tavern.  No  one  was  near  the  window,  but 
he  thought  he  saw  a  dark  form  glide  behind  a  tall  sugar 
maple  a  hundred  yards  distant.  He  seemed  to  recognize 
it.  Could  it  be  Panther?  Impossible!  He  ran  to  the  spot 
only  to  find  it  unoccupied;  but  a  faint  rustle  in  the  adjoin 
ing  cornfield  convinced  him  that  some  person  was  gliding 
on  all  fours  through  the  margin  of  the  standing  maize. 
Not  thinking  it  well  to  follow  further,  he  hailed  the  vi- 
dette,  who  had  seen  nothing,  since  he  had  stupidly  kept 
watch  in  every  direction  except  towards  the  window. 

In  the  meanwhile  Bradford  took  occasion  of  Luke's  ab 
sence  to  push  to  a  conclusion  his  scheme  to  trap  the  In 
spector,  promising  that  the  freighter's  foible  should  be 
respected.  When  Luke  returned  and  brought  the  matter 
up  again,  he  was  told  that  he  might  be  easy  in  mind,  for 
nothing  would  be  done  to  prejudice  his  honor,  or  compro 
mise  and  endanger  his  son.  With  this  he  felt  that  he  must 
be  content,  though  far  from  satisfied;  but  not  wishing  to 
be  at  cross-purposes  with  his  associates,  nor  to  challenge 
their  honor,  he  said  no  more. 

Soon  the  meeting  broke  up,  and  as  Latimer  and  Mar 
shall  walked  home  together  they  could  not  but  wonder 
what  they  had  been  called  for,  unless  to  endorse  Bradford's 
plans.  Verily!  But  then  what  more  could  a  chieftain  wish 
than  that  he  should  find  substantial  citizens  on  whom  to 
shunt  the  responsibility  of  his  deeds,  if  need  should  be? 
Not  well  assured  of  his  wisdom,  and  with  heart  fluttering 


76  THE   LATIMEKS. 

at  the  seeming  lawlessness  of  the  proposed  emprises,  and 
glad  to  be  quit  of  the  committee  and  the  pent-up  and 
stuffy  room,  Luke  came  to  his  home  through  the  bright 
moonlight  and  clear,  sweet  evening  air.  Polly  awoke  at 
his  footsteps,  but  forbore  to  chide,  greatly  to  Luke's  con 
tent. 


CHAPTEK  X. 


Forty  women  of  various  ages  assembled,  after  the  noon 
day  meal,  to  begin  work  at  Mrs.  Polly  Latimer's  scutching 
frolic.  They  were  fine  samples  of  pioneer  women;  above 
the  medium  height,  for  the  most  part  strongly  and  some  of 
them  stoutly  built.  They  had  fair  complexions,  eyes  of 
various  shades  of  gray  and  blue;  round  heads  well  shaped, 
full  faces,  generous  lips,  cheeks  ruddy  and  with  high  bones; 
broad  and  high  foreheads  with  brows  well  overhanging  and 
wide  between  the  eyes.  Faces  they  were  which  indicated  a 
thoroughly  warm-hearted,  loving,  intelligent  and  cour 
ageous  stock,  a  race  worthy  and  likely  to  be  the  mothers  of 
a  noble  progeny. 

One  would  not  look  for  elegant  toilets  in  such  a  gather 
ing,  but  the  dresses  were  at  least  suitable  to  the  event.  The 
newer  comers  to  the  settlement  wore  woolen  frocks  which 
pioneer  life  had  not  yet  had  time  to  fret  into  tatters. 
Many  had  home-made  linsey  or  linen  gowns.  A  few  had 
found  the  art  of  using  dressed  deer-skins,  especially  for 
jackets  and  slip-ons.  The  white  linen  folder  over  the 
breast  was  common.  Hoods  and  sunbonnets  covered  the 
heads,  and  the  elders  wore  frilled  caps  that  girdled  the  face. 
Shoes  were  rare,  though  some  owned  such  articles,  for  Sun 
day  use,  however.  On  ordinary  occasions  such  as  the  pres 
ent,  they  were  shodden  with  home-made  cloth  shoes  known 
as  shoe-packs,  or  with  Indian  moccasins  of  deer-skin.  The 
women  had  come  in  their  work-day  uniform,  with  some 
what  more  carefulness  to  be  trim  and  trig,  and  that  they 
were.  A  sweet  and  wholesome  company,  honest  and  true 
to  the  core  of  their  kindly  hearts,  lusty  and  supple,  and 
ever  ready  to  go  merrily  to  work  or  devoutly  to  worship. 

Since  we  saw  the  Latimers  at  the  finishing  point  of  ret- 


THE    LATIMERS.  77 

ting  their  crop  of  flax,  it  had  passed  through  the  brake,  a 
rude  machine  for  cracking  and  separating  the  boon  or  pithy 
heart  of  the  plant.  Thus  far  had  Luke,  aided  by  his  hired 
man  and  Dungy  the  slave,  carried  the  work  when  the 
women  came  to  do  their  part.  Already  the  scutching 
blocks  had  been  sent  in  from  the  neighborhood,  and  stood 
about  the  yard  in  the  shadow  of  overhanging  oaks  and 
maples.  A  scutching  block  was  simply  a  chunk  of  a  tree 
trunk,  chopped  fairly  into  twain,  a  triangular  section  cut 
from  the  middle,  and  mounted  on  four  legs.  Each  matron 
had  her  swingling  knife,  a  wooden  cleaver  or  paddle  about 
two  feet  long  having  a  broad  blade  with  one  thin  edge. 
These  were  the  rude  instruments  needed  for  scutching  or 
swingling  flax.  And  now  to  work. 

One  party  sorts  out  the  sticks  into  equal  lengths  for 
more  convenient  handling,  and  lays  them  beside  the  various 
scutching  blocks.  These  the  swingler  takes,  and  hold 
ing  them  along  the  groove  with  one  hand,  swings  her 
wooden  claymore  with  the  other  and  beats  it  down  upon 
the  stalks,  careful  always  to  strike  lengthwise  of  the  same. 
So,  turning  the  flax  with  one  hand  and  beating  it  with  the 
other,  the  tough  and  stringy  plant  is  separated  into  its  mul 
titudinous  fibres  or  threads,  which  at  last  lie  in  the  groove 
of  the  scutching  block,  a  coarse,  fluffy  mass  ready  for  hack 
ling,  the  next  stage  in  the  progress  toward  cloth. 

It  was  a  merry  chorus  indeed  that  the  women  made,  as 
their  swingling  knives  fell  with  regular  thuds  upon  the 
blocks,  and  their  tongues  ran  glibly  of  this  and  that.  The 
exercise  was  not  so  slavish  as  to  bow  the  body  into  uncomely 
or  weary-looking  attitudes,  but  was  vigorous  enough  to 
send  the  blood  tingling,  and  set  warm  colors  to  the  cheeks. 
Thus,  by  reason  of  varied  postures,  such  as  the  rhythmic 
rotation  of  the  left  arm  in  turning  the  flax  back  and  forth; 
and  the  heaving  up  and  beating  down  of  the  right  arm; 
and  the  movements  of  the  trunk  and  limbs  while  standing 
to  the  block,  the  muscles  of  the  whole  body  were  forced 
into  active  and  graceful  play.  Withal,  the  animation  of 
cheerful  chat,  and  the  head  turning  this  way  and  that  for 
question  and  answer,  to  listen  or  make  speech;  and  the 
smile  brightening  over  the  features;  and  the  hearty  laugh 
ter  parting  the  red  lips, — all  this  set  forth  these  frontier 
dames  and  damsels  at  their  best. 

Soon  the  swinglers  had  made  ready  their  first  lot  of 


78  THE    LATIMERS.    - 

material,  and  now  came  in  another  group  to  hackle  it.  A 
coarse  comb  was  the  instrument  used,  and  with  this  the 
scutched  flax  was  raked  and  pulled  until  the  rougher  part, 
known  as  swingling  tow,  was  separated  from  the  finer  which 
was,  in  short,  the  linen  fibre  ready  to  be  spun  into  threads 
of  greater  or  less  fineness.  Thence  it  would  be  made  into 
cuts,  and  so  to  the  shuttle  for  weaving. 

A  lively  and  attractive  company  this,  it  must  be  al 
lowed,  grouped  upon  the  green,  engaged  in  their  several 
tasks,  while  the  trees  above  gave  shelter  from  the  August 
sun.  And  what  had  they  to  talk  about?  Verily,  more  than 
like  gatherings  of  modern  times.  There  were  the  children, 
that  oldest  and  most  familiar,  and  also  exhaustless  theme, 
since  mother  love  is  in  all  and  in  all  ages  the  same.  The 
mystery,  sweetness  and  perversities  of  childhood  were  dis 
cussed  between  the  blows  of  the  scutching  knives;  and 
though  for  awhile  elbowed  aside  for  other  themes,  recurred 
again  and  again  until  breaking-up  time  came.  That  burn 
ing  question  of  to-day,  domestic  service  and  servants,  made 
few  tongues  wag  at  Polly  Latimer's  scutching  frolic.  For, 
in  sooth,  every  woman  there  wrought  with  her  own  hands 
all  household  duties;  although  a  few  of  them  had  negro 
slaves  to  assist  in  the  rougher  labor  of  the  home  and  the 
garden. 

Styles  of  dress  claimed  full  share  of  speech  then  as  now; 
but  the  harder  problem  "wherewithal  shall  we  be  clothed  ?" 
was  the  living  question  for  those  women.  Then  there  were 
the  Indians,  terrible  and  never-absent  theme;  the  last  new 
comers  to  the  settlement;  also  the  last  outgoers,  and  those 
who,  alas  for  women  folk!  with  soothless  restlessness  were 
again  devising  a  flitting  to  some  further  West.  There  was 
the  stir  over  the  excise  laws;  and,  perhaps  most  absorbing 
to  that  generation,  the  church  and  pastor,  the  log  academy, 
the  young  students  for  the  ministry,  religion  and  its  "gra 
cious  revival." 

Let  us  enter  this  group  of  matrons,  drawn  together 
by  the  affinity  of  greater  age  and  the  presence  of  the  pas 
tor's  good  wife,  Mrs.  John  McMillan,  who  has  broached 
the  question  of  the  need  the  frontier  has  for  ministers,  and 
their  own  efforts  to  supply  the  want. 

"There's  a  little  band  of  students  at  the  Academy,"  said 
she,  "looking  to  the  ministry,  and  another  studying  Divin 
ity  with  my  husband,  and  well  on  their  way.  True  fellows 


THE   LATIMERS.  79 

they  are,  and  our  own  border  boys,  with  the  smell  of  forest 
mould  upon  them,  and  knowing  well  how  to  win  the  peo 
ple's  hearts.  It's  little  they  need,  to  be  sure,  and  willing 
enough  to  work;  but  can  we  afford  to  have  them  break 
away  too  often  from  their  studies,  ladies?  No  indeed;  we 
must  keep  them  to  their  books,  and  hurry  them  into  the 
field  for  the  love  of  God  and  dying  souls." 

"Ay,  ay/'  quoth  Mrs.  Latimer,  who  had  left  her  stew 
ing  and  baking  for  the  nonce,  to  pass  courtesies  among  the 
several  gossips.  "It's  aven  so.  My  John  knows  them 
bravely;  an'  Thomas  Marquis  had  bed  an'  board  with  us  for 
two  s'asons,  an'  slep'  with  my  lad.  A  faithful  fellow  is  he, 
as  was  McGready  afore  him.  Now  I'm  resolved  that  a  good 
stent  of  the  linen  that  comes  from  this  flax  shall  go  for 
coats  an'  breeches  for  the  probationers." 

"Thank  you  truly!"  said  Mrs.  McMillan.  "It's  like  your 
own  kind  heart,  Mrs.  Latimer.  Indeed,  our  quota  of  cloth 
will  soon  be  due,  and  the  Chartiers  congregation  must  not 
be  behind  the  other  churches  that  have  banded  together 
to  help  the  young  men.  By  the  way,  how  shall  we  dye  the 
linen  for  their  clothes?" 

"Try  the  new  mown  hay,"  said  Mrs.  McDaniel.  "It 
makes  a  genteel  black  quite  fittin'  for  a  meenister,  an'  as 
fast  a  color  as  anny." 

"Indeed?  Let  it  be  so  then;  and  I  dare  say  Mrs. 
McDaniel  will  manage  it  for  us?  I  wish,  now,  the  doctor 
would  try  some  cloth  for  "his  breeches.  But,  dear  man,  he 
is  so  wedded  to  his  buckskin  that  I  can't  persuade  him  to 
change." 

"Tut,  Madam,  we'd  be  loth  to  see  the  doctor  change 
aither  hia  breeches  or  his  theology!"  said  sturdy  Mrs. 
McDaniel.  "He  is  jist  suited  for  a  people  in  a  land  like 
our'n;  a  chosen  vessel  of  the  Lord,  if  there  iver  was  one, 
an'  a  blessin'  through  all  the  border." 

"Well,  Dolly,"  said  Mrs.  Peggy  Burbeck,  "I'll  no  differ 
with  you  about  the  breeches.  But  don't  you  think  we  could 
stan'  a  little  less  predestination  in  our  theology?  Oh,  you 
naden't  shake  your  head;  an'  I  mane  no  offince,  Mrs. 
McMillan.  But  I  like  the  doctor  best  whin  he  swings  awav 
from  the  ol'  lines  an'  casts  the  Gospel  net  out  broad  an' 
free.  He's  jist  gran'  at  sich  times!  It's  small  won'er  we've 
had  revivals,  sence  the  meenisters  are  all  preachin'  so  hearty 
the  free  grace  of  the  lovin'  God.  For  my  part  I  don't 


80  THE   LATIMERS. 

envye  the  ol'  fashioned  preachin'  which,  as  my  man  would 
gay,  is  too  often  long  grace  an'  little  mate." 

Mrs.  Burbeck  was  a  short  woman  with  black  eyes  and 
black  hair;  plump,  though  wiry;  and  red-cheeked,  though 
her  face  was  somewhat  swart,  and  a  little  show  of  hairs  cov 
ered  her  upper  lip.  Peggy  was  as  much  a  favorite  in  her 
circle  as  was  Andy  in  his,  and  much  for  the  same  reason; 
her  cheerful  nature  gave  forth  brightness,  while  her 
candor  and  sturdy  womanhood  won  respect.  No  one 
seemed  ready  to  join  issue  with  her,  and  several  pairs  ol' 
eyes  shot  forth  quick  approval;  but  a  hush  fell  upon  the 
circle  as  though  here,  indeed,  was  trespassing  on  forbidden 
ground. 

What  a  masterful  creature  is  a  good  woman,  with  wise 
tact.  The  pastor's  wife  was  equal  to  the  emergency.  Nod 
ding  pleasantly  to  the  speaker,  she  answered:  "Ay,  Mis 
tress  Peggy,  it  is  sweet,  indeed,  to  hear  of  the  free  grace 
of  God,  and  none  the  less  because  it's  sovereign  grace  as 
well.  But  you'll  like  the  preaching  of  our  new  set  of  min 
isters,  I'll  b3  bound!  The  carpenter  is  known  by  his  chips; 
and  the  doctor's  theology  may  be  tested  by  the  lads  it  has 
trained.  You've  heard  of  McGready  now,  and  what  a 
Boanerges  he  has  come  to  be,  and  how  a  great  revival  has 
already  sprung  up  from  his  preaching?  You  will  give  us 
an  extra  yard  or  two  of  linen,  Mrs.  Burbeck,  I'm  sure,  for 
the  love  you  have  for  that  sort  of  preaching/' 

A  ripple  of  laughter  cut  through  the  teasing  sound  of 
the  hackling,  in  which  Mrs.  Peggy  good-naturedly  joined. 
"Fairly  caught,"  she  cried;  "an'  so  deft  a  turn  by  the  pas 
tor's  wife  is  worth  a  good  yard  of  linen.  Ye  shall  e'n  have 
it  an'  welcome,  Mrs.  McMillan.  An'  we're  truly  thankful 
for  the  incouragin'  news.  I  al'ays  liked  the  lad  from  he 
cam'  to  work  his  way  with  the  doctor/' 

"Mr.  McGready  is  not  the  only  one  of  our  new  lot  of 
preachers,"  continued  the  pastor's  wife,  "whose  work  is 
being  owned  by  the  Holy  Ghost.  There's  Joseph  Patter 
son,  who  is  serving  the  congregations  of  Raccoon  Creek  and 
Mountour's  Run;  he  is  like  to  prove  a  most  pious  and  use 
ful  minister." 

"Thank  God  for  that!"  said  Mother  McCormack,  whose 
Scotch  burr  betrayed  her  nationality.  "A'  mind  the  lad 
weel.  He  was  unco'  powerfu'  in  prayer,  and  wud  aft  bring 
tears  to  ma  een.  It's  aye  so;  when  the  meenister  melts  at 


THE   LATIMEBS.  81 

his  devotions  the  people  will  melt  at  his  sermons.    Heaven- 
movin'  prayer  mak's  soul-savin'  preachin'." 

"Very  true/'  said  the  pastor's  wife.  "And  the  men  now 
coming  before  Presbytery  are  not  a  whit  behind  him. 
Now,  there's  our  silver-tongued  Marquis,  whose  musical 
voice  is  already  known  in  our  prayer  meetings.  He  has  Ms 
parts  of  trial,  and  will  be  soon  licensed,  no  doubt.  But  I 
must  not  speak  of  him,  for  here  is  his  good  wife  just  at 
hand,  and  she  might  get  vain  at  our  commendations." 

Mrs.  Marquis  stood  hard  by  wielding  a  swingling  knife 
wdth  hearty  fervor,  while  her  daughter,  a  maid  of  fourteen, 
sat  on  the  grass  near  the  block  and  sorted  out  the  sticks  of 
flax.  Eesting  the  end  of  her  knife  upon  the  block  and  lean 
ing  an  elbow  on  the  handle  tip,  the  comely  dame  replied: 

"Ah,  Mrs.  McMillan,  there's  little  fear  that  ministers' 
wives,  especially  while  they're  probationers,  will  get  overly 
vain.  With  all  kind  service  and  loving  friendships  of  God's 
saints,  there  will  be  quite  enough  to  keep  us  humble.  How 
ever,  I  thank  you  for  your  good  words,  and  indeed,  for  all 
your  many  helpful  acts.  I  do  hope  and  pray  that  Thomas 
may  be  all  that  we  could  wish.  I'm  sure,  at  least,  from  the 
time  he  was  converted  in  old  Fort  Vance,  he's  been  set 
on  preaching  the  Gospel;  and  glad  enough  I'll  be  when 
he's  ready  to  settle  to  the  work." 

"By  the  way,"  said  the  pastor's  wife,  "you  remind  me  of 
that  wonderful  incident  in  your  husband's  life.  Many  of  the 
neighbors  have  never  heard  it;  can't  you  tell  us  all  about  it?" 

"Since  you  ask  it,  Madam,  certainly;  that  is,  if  the 
ladies  would  like  to  hear?"  A  matter  which  was  settled  by 
a  hearty  chorus  of  "yes,  yes!" 

"Come  then,"  cried  Mrs.  Polly  Latimer,  turning  to  the 
group  of  workers,  "you've  all  had  a  brave  turn  at  scutchin' 
an'  may  ease  up  a  bit.  Jist  rest  the  knives  a  spell,  an' 
listen."  Those  who  were  distant  closed  up  to  the  group 
of  matron  hacklers,  and  Mrs.  Marquis  began  her  story: 

"My  husband  wras  born  near  Winchester,  Virginia,  and 
having  lost  both  parents  when  a  child,  was  brought  up  by  a 
pious  uncle.  We  were  married  in  1775  and  with  a  number 
of  friends  migrated  to  the  Cross  Creek  country.  We  had 
a  pack  horse  train,  and  I  rode  when  tired  in  a  willow  creel, 
balancing  on  one  side  of  a  horse  with  freight  hung  on  the 
other.  But  I  marched  a  good  part  of  the  way,  as  on  the 
whole  pleasanter." 
6 


82  THE   LATIMEES. 

"Ay,  indade!"  cried  Mrs.  Peggy  Burbeck.  "Don't  w« 
know  that  quite  well?" 

Sundry  ejaculations  and  laughing  remarks  passed 
around  the  circle^  as  one  and  another  recalled  the  hard 
experience  of  the  tramps  and  camps,  the  toils  and  terrors 
of  that  mountain  journey  to  the  Trans- Allegheny  settle 
ments.  The  associations  were  so  strong  that  for  a  few  mo 
ments  they  kept  a  gap  in  the  narrative  At  last  there  was 
silence,  and  Mrs.  Marquis  resumed. 

"That  part  of  Washington  County  was  then  an  almost 
unbroken  wilderness.  Everything  was  to  be  done;  forests 
cleared  and  -trees  girdled,  cabins  raised,  plantings  made, 
and  at  the  same  time  a  close  watch  kept  on  the  Indians, 
who  were  threatening  the  frontier,  encouraged  by  the  out 
break  of  the  Eevolution.  Oh,  the  terrors  of  those  days, 
when  the  men  were  away  in  the  fields  at  work;  and  of  those 
long  nights  when  every  howl  of  a  wolf  or  hoot  of  a  night 
hawk  startled  us  from  our  restless  sleep  with  the  fear  that 
the  savages  were  upon  us!  At  last,  and  not  long  after  our 
arrival,  the  Indians  fell  upon  our  new  settlement,  and  my 
poor  brother  Park  was  the  first  to  fall,  tomahawked  and 
scalped  close  by  our  own  c°bin." 

Her  voice  choked;  tears  moistened  her  eyes,  and  as  she 
paused  after  a  brief  space,  many  a  sigh  escaped,  and  that 
not  simply  from  sympathy,  for  a  number  in  that  company 
were  thus  reminded  of  a  like  experience  in  their  lives. 

"Then  we  fled  from  the  settlement,"  the  lady  con 
tinued,  "and  all  the  neighbors  gathered  within  Fort  Vance, 
while  those  who  had  rifles  and  could  use  them  sallied  forth 
to  scout.  There  we  were,  shut  up  within  the  log  court  and 
the  block  house  walls,  grieved,  sore  disappointed  and  in 
terror,  and  knowing  not  what  to  do.  The  only  pious  man 
in  the  Fort  was  a  farmer  named  Patterson,  and  you 
may  be  sure  we  turned  to  him  to  help  us  by  his  prayers. 
He  was  a  devout  Christian,  one  whose  zeal  and  piety  had 
stood  the  stress  of  removal  to  the  border,  under  which  so' 
many  have  yielded  their  profession.  He  concluded  to  im 
prove  the  occasion  by  talking  to  us  about  religion;  and  we 
were  nothing  loath,  for  we  were  sad-hearted  and  needed  com 
fort,  and  shut  up  within  the  fort  with  time  hanging  heavy 
on  our  hands.  So  we  listened  while  he  read  the  Bible  and 
talked  to  us  of  an  enemy  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the  In 
dians. 


THE    LATIMERS. 


83 


"He  began  by  speaking  only  to  husband  and  me,  not 
thinking  of  open  speech.  But  one  after  another  came 
about  us,  and  so  at  last  personal  exhortations  to  a  few 
friends  became  public  addresses.  It  was  a  strange  and 
moving  scene.  There  in  that  wilderness  fort  stood  the 
plain  man  of  God  talking  to  us  of  salvation,  and  there  and 
then  the  power  of  the  Holy  Spirit  fell  upon  us.  There  was 
scarcely  one  in  the  fort  who  was  not  seriously  concerned 
about  his  soul,  and  ere  we  left  the  walls  twenty  or  more 
were  led  to  Christ,  among  them  husband  and  myself. 

"That  farmer,  whom  God  so  owned,  is  now  the  Rev. 
Joseph  Patterson.  Three  years  afterward  we  were  visited 
by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Power,  who  preached  at  Fort  Vance  the 
first  sermon  ever  made  in  that  region.  And  there  this 
lass,"  nodding  to  her  daughter,  "was  baptized,  the  first 
child  given  to  God  in  baptism  in  that  section.  Our  little 
company  of  believers  was  organized  into  a  church,  and 
built  our  first  log  sanctuary  nea  the  fort." 

"And  should  the  parts  of  trial  come  off  all  right,"  said 
Mrs.  McMillan,  taking  up  the  story,  "and  no  one  doubts 
that,  it  is  an  open  secret  mat  the  Cross  Creek  congregation 
hope  and  expect  that  Rev.  Thomas  Marquis  will  be  their 
pastor."  Thus  the  story  ended,  and  the  party  went  back 
to  their  work,  while  the  talk  gradually  veered  around  to 
the  growing  excitement  over  the  excise  taxes,  and  the  dis 
orders  which  were  being  fomented  throughout  the  Western 
country. 

Mrs.  McMillan,  as  a  loyal  pastor's  wife,  stood  with  her 
husband  against  what  she  called  the  infatuation  of  the 
people,  and  stoutly,  but  with  conciliatory  manner  that 
soothed  all  friction,  opposed  any  violence  towards  the  Gov 
ernment.  Mrs.  Latimer,  for  reasons  which  have  already 
appeared,  curtly  took  off  the  whole  proceedings  as  a  plot  of 
Bradford's  to  serve  his  own  ends  at  the  expense  of  their 
husbands  and  themselves. 

"Ay,  trust  him!"  quoth  she.  "He'll  hatch  his  own  eggs 
under  our  hens,  an'  they'll  be  cockatrice's  eggs  you  may  be 
sure;  an'  but  for  the  marcy  of  God  they'll  sting  us  sore. 
An'  women  folks  are  iver  the  warst  sufferers  in  sich  tumults 
as  Dave  Bradford  would  stir  up.  But  what  cares  he?  A 
sly  an'  frothy  Gashmu!  Dear  hearts,  it  behoves  to  keep  our 
men  out  of  the  hubbub  if  we  can." 

Mrs.  Peggy  Burbeck  stood  almost  alone  in  opposing  the 


84  THE   LATIMERS. 

agitation  on  the  then  novel  theory  that  the  higher  the  tax 
on  spirits  the  less  would  be  made,  and  the  less  made  the 
better.  "There's  nothing  but  sorrow  in  the  cup!"  quoth 
she.  "I'd  rother  have  less  to  do  with,  an'  kape  sober  com 
pany.  In  troth,  there's  not  a  haet  of  gain  by  the  stillin', 
for  what's  saved  at  the  spigot  is  let  out  at  the  bung.  The 
idleness,  illness,  waste  an'  wantonness  that  the  liquor  gen 
ders  more  than  devour  the  profits  of  the  trade.  It's  the  ol' 
story  of  Pharaoh's  lean  kine  that  eat  up  the  fat  wans." 

These  utterances  by  no  means  expressed  the  prevailing 
sentiment  of  the  women,  for  a  decided  majority  were  in 
sympathy  with  their  husbands  and  sons  in  hostility  to  the 
excise  laws.  Fortunately  for  the  good  temper  of  the  party, 
the  men  began  to  arrive,  they  having  been  bidden  come  to 
the  supper  when  the  work  should  be  done.  The  absence  of 
Dr.  McMillan  was  much  regretted;  he  had  gone  on  Presby- 
terial  service  to  an  adjoining  neighborhood.  However, 
several  of  the  church  elders  came.  The  divinity  students 
and  young  men  of  the  academy  with  other  youth  of  the 
settlement  began  to  drop  in,  and  a  genial  time  was  had  at 
the  evening  meal,  which  was  furnished  with  the  bountiful 
hospitality  for  which  the  Latimers  were  famous. 

A  sore  disappointment  awaited.  Supper  ended,  the 
young  women  began  to  organize  games  such  as  prevailed  at 
that  time  in  the  West.  But  to  their  amazement,  the  part 
ners  whom  they  had  confidently  expected  to  share  the 
sports  were  not  to  be  found.  Where  could  they  have  gone? 
In  like  manner  the  matrons,  looking  around  for  their 
spouses,  perceived  that  from  one  cause  or  another  they  too 
had  disappeared.  They  had  dropped  silently  out  one  by 
one,  until  only  a  few  old  men,  some  students  and  a  few  of 
the  younger  fellows  remained.  Luke  Latimer  took  the 
matter  good-naturedly  and  quite  as  a  matter  of  course, 
though  his  manner  was  a  little  nervous  and  constrained. 
Mrs.  Latimer  was  not  so  self-poised.  She  was  flustered  and 
fretted,  and  her  disappointment  cropped  out  in  various 
uneasy  expressions.  Yet  she  was  well  content  that  Luke 
stayed  by  her  side  to  aid  in  the  entertaining,  instead  of  mys 
teriously  slipping  away  as  so  many  had  done. 

The  incident  cast  a  damper  on  the  party.  The  mystery 
which  the  elder  women  could  not  solve,  and  the  men  would 
not  explain;  the  disappointment  of  the  young  women  at 
the  departure  of  their  beaux,  and  the  loss  of  the  amuse- 


THE   LATIMERS.  85 

ment  which  they  had  promised  themselves, — all  this 
sorely  disconcerted  the  company.  Therefore,  despite 
the  efforts  of  Mrs.  Latimer,  seconded  by  the  genial 
activity  of  Mrs.  Burbeck,  the  party  broke  up  early.  The 
absence  of  so  many  of  the  men  disposed  the  women  to  go 
home  sooner.  However,  the  August  evening  made  delight 
ful  walking  over  the  roads  and  by-paths,  and  the  moon 
came  up  after  sunset.  At  last,  there  remained  only  Mrs. 
Burbeck,  who  as  her  husband  was  away  had  agreed  to  bide 
the  night  with  Mrs.  Polly,  and  a  young  woman  lately  come 
to  the  settlement  whom  Luke  had  offered  to  escort  home. 


CHAPTER  XL 

A  NIGHT  CONCLAVE. 

When  the  last  visitor  had  been  lost  to  sight,  Luke  went 
to  the  stable  to  look  after  his  stock.  As  he  entered  the  yard 
he  heard  a  light  footstep  behind  him,  and  an  uttered 
"hugh!"  which  caused  him  to  start,  and  whirl  rapidly 
about.  There  stood  Panther! 

Luke  was  well  enough  used  to  Indian  manners  to  know 
that  this  sudden  apparition  meant  something  important; 
but  also  that  it  was  not  becoming  to  show  undue  excite 
ment.  He  quietly  bade  his  red  friend  welcome,  and  brought 
him  into  the  kitchen,  where  Mrs.  Polly  gave  him  a  kind 
reception  and  a  hearty  meal.  Hunger  appeased,  Panther 
uttered  a  word  of  thanks  to  the  housewife,  and  left  the 
cabin  followed  by  Luke.  Through  a  crack  in  the  door  the 
matron  watched  the  two  men  as  they  stood  in  the  shade  of 
a  sugar  maple  tree  exchanging  communications. 

The  Mingo  was  somewhat  moved  from  his  wonted  stat 
uesque  manner,  and  seemed  unusually  earnest.  Luke  was 
at  first  visibly  excited;  he  stamped  his  foot,  threw  out  his 
hands  with  an  indignant  gesture,  stirred  about  a  little  upon 
his  heels,  then  gradually  recovered  self-control  and  stood 
motionless.  Polly  knew  by  those  signs  that  her  husband 
was  in  a  mighty  passion.  It  was  his  wont,  under  provoca 
tion  and  danger  of  all  kinds,  first  to  make  uneasy  bodily 
movements;  but  soon  he  put  on  a  calm  exterior,  and  only 
showed  his  inward  fervor  by  his  pale  face,  burning  eyes  and 


86  THE    LATIMERS. 

quiet  carriage.  She  was  not  surprised,  therefore,  when  he 
entered  the  house  and  told  her  that  he  must  leave  imme 
diately  on  important  business,  and  take  two  horses  with 
him. 

"I  had  thought  that  I  would  ask  you,  might  I  take  your 
pony  with  me,  too?"  he  continued.  "For,  indade,  she  may 
be  sore  naded.  But  no,  I'll  not  ask  that." 

"Take  her  an'  welcome,  Luke  dear!"  interrupted  the 
wife.  "She  was  your  gift,  an'  well  I  know  you  love  Snow 
ball  as  dearly  as  I  do,  an'  will  take  good  care  of  her.  I'm 
truly  sorry  you  must  go,  an'  on  this  night,  of  all  the  year; 
but  what  must  be  will  be,  an'  I  dar'  say  you  know  best. 
Have  you  no  word  for  me  as  to  where  you're  a-goin'?  Is 
anny thing  gone  wrong  with  John?" 

"There's  nothin'  so  very  saycret,  Polly,  that  you  may 
not  know :  but  whist!  not  a  word  to  your  gossips.  I'm  a-goiii' 
down  til  Wheeling.  Dave  Bradford's  been  in  divilment, 
an'  played  the  traitor  with  me.  It's  summat  about  the  lad; 
least wavs  he  may  be  consarned  therein:  an'  though  there's 
naught  wrong  with  him,  I  hope,  as  yet,  there  may  be,  an' 
I'm  off  to  bender  that.  So  good-bye,  love,  an'  take  good 
care  of  yourself." 

The  exigencies  of  her  life  had  inured  Mrs.  Latimer  to 
such  sudden  movements  of  her  husband,  and  danger  was 
too  common  an  element  in  their  pioneer  conditions  to  cause 
undue  easiness  or  protest.  So,  hastening  to  make  up  a  hav 
ersack  filled  with  cold  bits,  she  bade  Luke  good-bye,  and 
watched  him  ride  away  with  Panther  toward  Washington, 
leading  Snowball  by  the  bridle. 

"Well,  Jenny,"  she  said,  addressing  her  young  woman 
guest,  "Luke  was  sore  troubled  that  he  could  not  company 
you  home,  as  he  promised.  But,  'dade,  the  business  was 
press! n*,  an"  I  offered  to  take  his  place.  Mrs.  Burbeck  can 
go  with  me,  and  then  I  shall  have  company  back  home,  an' 
good  company  at  that.  It's  a  fine  night,  soft  an'  bright,  an' 
I'm  not  the  laste  bit  feared.  Indade,  I'd  rother  be  out  in 
the  open  air  nor  bidin'  here  in  the  cabin.  The  walk  '11  help 
wark  off  the  disappointment  an'  vaxation  of  the  avenin', 
an'  I'll  be  all  the  better  for  it." 

So  it  was  agreed;  and  as  the  full  moon  shone  over  the 
hills,  the  trio  started,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Burbeck's  fox- 
dog,  Betty.  "As  rare  a  beau,"  she  averred,  "as  maid  or 
matron  nade  want.  For  she  kapes  a  respictful  distance  be- 


THE    LATIMERS.  87 

hint  an'  a  keen  eye  ahead;  an'  though  she  disn't  worry  one 
with  her  idle  claver,  she  can  give  tongue  sharp  enough,  if 
nade  be." 

Xot  far  from  Chartiers  Creek  the  women  left  the  main 
road  and  took  a  bypath  over  the  side  of  the  hill  that  led 
more  directly  to  Jenny's  house.  It  was  a  common  short 
cut  to  the  church,  and  still  worshipers  pass  up  that  way 
from  the  village.  The  path  led  them  through  an  open  oak 
grove,  not  far  from  the  Hill  Church  premises,  and  as  they 
entered  it  the  terrier  uttered  a  short  growl  and  ran  to  the 
front.  Her  hair  bristled  upon  her  back,  her  tail  dropped, 
and  her  general  attitude  was  that  of  a  canine-  who  has  dis 
covered  a  nearby  enemy. 

"Aha!"  said  Mistress  Burbeck,  "what  have  ye  found, 
Betty?  Is  it  a  rabbit  in  the  brush?  Or —  The  question 
was  interrupted  by  a  sharp  bark,  and  a.  rustling  in  the 
bushes  from  which  stepped  forth  a  man  whose  appearance 
so  startled  the  women  that  they  uttered  cries,  and  fell  back 
in  a  little  group  one  upon  the  other. 

"No  harm,  ladies!"  said  the  intruder  in  a  gruff  voice 
evidently  disguised.  "But  you  mus'n't  pass  this  way!" 

The  phrase  "must  not"  has  a  strange  effect  upon  people, 
especially  if  their  blood  be  well  charged  with  Scotch-Irish 
temper.  It  roused  the  ire  of  these  frontier  women,  and  at 
once  dispelled  their  fears  by  the  presence  of  a  stronger  pas 
sion. 

"Mus'n't,  indade!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Latimer.  "Highty- 
tighty!  a  fine  thing  this,  that  ladies  must  be  stopped  on 
their  way  home  by  masked  prowlers.  Scaret,  forsooth! 
We're  not  a  bit  scaret,  sir.  We  weren't  born  in  the  woods 
to  be  scaret  by  an  owl." 

Nevertheless,  the  women  made  no  forward  movement, 
but  stood  gazing  upon  the  man  who  had  thus  interrupted 
them.  He  was  dressed  in  the  usual  garb  of  a  frontiersman, 
except  that  a  bit  of  white  linen  was  pulled  down  over  his 
face  as  far  as  his  mouth,  with  openings  at  the  eye  spaces 
permitting  him  to  look  out.  A  not  very  complete  disguise, 
certainly;  but  in  the  dim  light  of  the  grove  sufficient  to 
conceal  identity. 

"Can't  help  it,  ladies,"  said  the  sentinel,  stretching  his 
rifle  across  the  path  to  prevent  passage.  "That's  my  orders, 
that  no  one  darst  go  over  this  path.  Sorry  to  cause  you 
anny  inconvanience,  but  you  mus'  go  roun'  by  the  woodside 
or  through  the  meadow." 


88  THE    LATIMERS. 

He  spoke  in  the  same  disguised  tone  of  voice,  but  had 
not  succeeded  in  concealing  his  identity  from  Betty  the 
dog,  whose  demeanor  underwent  a  marked  transformation. 
Her  barks  sank  into  growls,  and  her  growls  again  into  low 
whines,  while  contemporaneously  her  tail  and  back  passed 
through  the  usual  stages  from  objective  anger  to  objective 
gratification.  She  even  wagged  her  tail,  and  came  up  in  a 
fondling  way  to  the  sentinel;  and  finally  leaped  upon  his 
knee  with  strong  expressions  of  recognition  and  approba 
tion.  This  threw  the  man  off  his  guard,  and  kicking  his 
leg  forward,  he  exclaimed  in  a  more  natural  tone  of  voice, 
"Get  out,  Betty,  you  beast!" 

Thereat  Mrs.  Burbeck  exclaimed,  "Aha!  I  think  we 
know  who  this  masked  gentleman  is.  Tom  Spenser  for  all 
the  warld.  You  can't  concale  it,  Tommy;  we  know  ye  now, 
and  you  might  as  well  let  us  by." 

Whether  or  no  it  was  Tom  Spenser  was  not  then  settled; 
for  notwithstanding  the  women's  protestations,  the  senti 
nel  insisted  upon  observing  his  orders,  and  the  upshot  of  it 
was  that  the  trio  had  to  leave  the  grove  and  pass  through 
the  meadow  by  a  somewhat  longer  course.  They  were  all 
agreed  that  these  maskings  meant  no  good,  and  shrewdly 
suspected  that  the  excise  troubles  were  at  the  bottom  of 
them,  and  that  it  was  to  attend  some  sort  of  conventicle  or 
lodge  that  the  men  had  left  the  women  so  unceremoniously 
at  the  scutching  party. 

Influenced  still  by  curiosity,  they  directed  their  course 
as  near  as  might  be  to  the  meeting  house.  Once  more  they 
were  shunted  off  by  the  appearance  of  a  sentinel  from  the 
shadow  of  a  tree,  who,  without  speaking,  gave  them  to 
understand  by  motions  that  they  could  not  pass.  They 
crossed  to  the  rail  fence  which  separated  the  meadow  from 
the  adjoining  field  and  formed  a  part  of  the  eastward 
boundary  of  the  church  lot. 

No  doubt,  discretion  would  have  got  the  better  of  curi 
osity,  and  the  party  would  have  proceeded  directly  to 
Jenny's  house  beyond  the  hilltop,  had  not  Mrs.  Latimer 
as  she  mounted  the  rail  fence  turned  her  eyes  toward  the 
road  and  discovered  something  that  strongly  excited  her 
interest.  She  sat  on  the  rider  or  uppermost  rail  with  hand 
over  her  eyes  and  looked  intently.  A  bunch  of  horses  pick 
eted  beyond  the  churchyard  was  joined  by  a  party  of  two 
mounted  men  leading  a  white  pony.  Mrs.  Polly  recognized 
her  own  Snowball! 


THE   LATIMERS.  89 

She  had  caught  but  a  glimpse  of  the  group  as  they 
crossed  the  road,  and  the  riders  were  immediately  lost  in 
the  shadow,  yet  the  form  of  her  pony  was  too  familiar  to 
permit  mistake.  Had  not  Luke  and  Panther  gone  up  the 
main  road  to  Washington?  How  came  they  to  be  in  that 
crowd  of  men,  gathered  yonder  in  the  shadow  of  the  church 
wall,  and  under  the  spreading  oak  trees?  There  they  could 
be  plainly  seen,  and  the  murmur  of  their  voices  heard  as 
they  seemed  to  discuss  some  exciting  problem.  It  did  not 
take  the  woman  long  to  resolve  that  the  mystery  should 
then  and  there  be  solved,  if  at  ail  solvable.  So,  bidding 
her  companions  remain  where  they  were,  cr  go  forward  to 
Jenny's  house,  as  they  pleased,  she  declared  her  purpose  to 
get  nearer  to  the  meeting,  and  find  out  what  was  going  on. 
She  said  no  word  of  her  more  important  purpose,  not  caring 
to  make  her  companions  confidants  in  her  home  affairs. 

She  held  along  the  fence,  which  after  the  fashion  of  the 
times  was  overgrown  in  the  angles  with  tall  clumps  of  grass, 
wild  flowers  and  elder  bushes,  and  afforded  much  conceal 
ment.  She  inched  her  way  carefully  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  roadside,  and  almost  within  earshot  of  the  picketed 
horses.  Here  she  had  a  fair  view  of  what  had  attracted  her 
attention,  and  learned  that  her  husband  and  the  Mingo 
were  there,  and  Snowball  with  them. 

Presently,  Luke  left  his  companion  and  joined  the  body 
of  men  several  rods  beyond,  on  the  shaded  side  of  the  meet 
ing  house.  He  was  not  long  gone,  although  it  seemed  an 
age  to  Mrs.  Polly,  watching  in  that  strange  position  at  that 
unusual  hour.  When  Luke  returned  he  was  accompanied 
by  David  Bradford.  The  two  walked  to  a  spot  apart  from 
the  crowd,  and  began  a  heated  discussion.  Not  a  word 
reached  the  listener's  ear,  but  the  tones  of  voice  and  manner 
of  her  husband  satisfied  her  that  something  serious  was  in 
his  mind,  and  that  he  was  near  the  boiling  point,  and  likely 
at  any  time  to  break  forth  into  violence.  Now  one  sentence 
reached  her,  sounding  forth  clearly  upon  the  night  air, 
for  Luke  in  his  excitement  forgot  his  caution  and  raised 
his  voice. 

"You  must  go  with  us,  or  by  Heaven — " 

Bradford  raised  his  arm  in  caution,  and  Polly  heard  his 
whispered  "hush"  as  he  dropped  it,  and  Luke's  voice  ceased 
to  be  heard.  Then  the  lawyer  turned  from  his  companion 
rather  brusquely  as  if  to  rejoin  the  meeting.  Thereat  Luke 


90  THE    LATIMERS. 

gave  a  signal,  and  Panther,  who  thus  far  had  been  hidden, 
darted  from  the  shadow  of  the  picketed  horses  and  placed 
himself  between  Bradford  and  the  crowd.  The  agitator 
shrank  back  so  suddenly  at  this  unexpected  spectacle  that  he 
almost  stumbled  to  the  ground,  while  the  Indian  with  hand 
holding  his  tomahawk  stood  like  a  bronze  statue  in  the 
moonlight. 

Bradford  soon  recovered,  and  turning  to  Latimer  ex 
claimed: 

"What  does  this  mean,  sir?" 

Luke's  answer  vas  quiet,  but  decided  (his  wife  could 
make  that  out),  and  ere  long  the  two  seemed  to  come  to  an 
agreement  and  together  entered  the  crowd. 

Mrs.  Latimer  waited  for  their  reappearance  five,  ten,  fif 
teen  minutes;  a  long,  weary  wait  it  seemed.  Then,  no  one 
appearing,  and  the  crowd  beginning  to  fray  off  from  the 
borders,  scattering  here  and  there  by  singles  and  doubles 
and  groups,  she  deemed  her  position  no  longer  secure.  Not 
caring  to  be  caught  at  eavesdropping,  she  stooped  low  and 
ran  back  under  the  shelter  of  the  fence  to  her  companions, 
who,  for  their  part,  had  become  much  alarmed,  and  were 
glad  to  welcome  their  friend. 

Without  more  ado  the  three  fell  into  the  shadow  ©f  the 
fence  which  they  followed  to  a  safe  distance,  and  then 
struck  across  the  field  in  the  full  moonlight,  and  so  to 
Jenny's  house.  The  latter  tried  to  persuade  them  to  re 
main  over  night,  and  Mrs.  Burbeck  was  anxious  to  do  so, 
for  the  shock  and  alarm  had  discomfited  her.  Mrs.  Polly 
herself  was  in  anything  but  a  placid  mood,  and  her  nerves 
had  been  well  shaken.  Notwithstanding,  she  decided  that 
the  secret  meeting  would  soon  be  broken  up  and  the  men 
all  dispersed  to  their  homes,  so  that  the  way  back  to  her  own 
cabin  would  be  unmolested.  So  they  found  it;  yet,  they 
traversed  the  homeward  path  with  many  side  glances  at  the 
grove  and  clump  of  trees. 

Mrs.  Polly  had  scant  sleep  that  night.  She  was  turning 
over  in  her  mind,  and  over  and  over  again,  the  strange 
behavior  of  her  husband,  and  wondering  what  it  all  might 
mean,  and  what  it  all  might  lead  to?  When  she  fell  into 
sleep  at  last,  her  dreams  were  troubled.  She  woke  up  in 
the  morning  in  a  flood  of  tears,  sorely  unnerved  for  the 
day's  duty,  and  feeling  more  the  loneliness  of  her  situation 
than  she  had  ever  done  when  keeping  solitary  watch  with 


THE   LATIMEHS.  91 

her  baby  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio,  in  the  midst  of  the 
Indian  country. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

A  CABIN  IN  THE   WILDERNESS. 

When  John  Latimer  and  his  party  had  finished  the  log 
cabin  on  the  keel  boat  the  day  was  well  advanced.  Think 
ing  it  wise  not  to  travel  after  dusk,  it  was  settled  to  make 
camp  near  Mingo  Bottom,  a  fertile  river  plain  three  miles 
below  Steubenville.  Mingo  Bottom  is  associated  with  one  of 
the  most  shameful  and  one  of  the  saddest  incidents  in  pio 
neer  history.  Here,  on  the  fourth  of  March,  1782,  rendez 
voused  the  expedition  under  Williamson  that  massacred  the 
Moravian  Indians  at  Gnadenhiitten,  one  of  the  bloodiest 
and  most  inexcusable  incidents  in  American  history,  and 
one  that  cast  a  deep  shadow  upon  the  Scotch-Irish  race, 
from  whom  the  assassins  were  chiefly  drawn. 

Nearly  three  months  later,  May  20,  met  also  at  Mingo 
Bottom  the  ill-starred  expedition  of  Col.  Crawford,  and 
thence  departed  against  the  Indians  on  the  Sandusky,  to 
return  beaten  back  and  defeated.  The  second  in  command 
was  the  leader  of  the  Moravian  massacre.  These  events 
were  still  fresh  in  the  minds  of  the  older  members  of  our 
party.  Many  of  the  participants  were  personally  known 
to  them,  and  some  were  friends  and  kin. 

The  Mingo  Bottom  lands  were  at  that  time  taken  up 
and  settled;  and  fearing  lest  some  of  the  planters  might  be 
unfriendly,  John  pushed  a  little  way  beyond  to  the  settle 
ment  of  Fergus  Kelly,  a  friend  of  Andy's.  Xow  the  boat's 
nozzle  was  moored  to  the  bank  hard  by  where  a  clearing  and 
a  cabin  showed  the  beginnings  of  a  home.  The  house  was 
an  ordinary  log  structure, except  that  at  the  middle  in  front 
a  jutting  bastion  was  made,  into  which  the  door  was  set, 
thus  giving  play  for  rifles,  if  need  be,  from  loop-holes  on 
either  side.  At*the  right  and  left  windows  were  cut  which 
were  glazed  with  coarse  linen  greased  with  bear's  oil  to 
make  it  more  translucent  and  preserve  it  from  the  weather. 
The  roof  was  covered  with  clapboards  or  hewn  slabs  of 
timber,  which  were  laid  from  ridge  to  eaves  and  held  in 
place  by  cross  logs  braced  by  wooden  pegs.  As  the  boat 


92  THE   LATIMEES. 

stopped,  a  child's  voice  was  heard  through  the  open  cabin 
door  singing  a  familiar  tune. 

"Hist!"  said  John,  raising  his  finger.  The  noise  of 
mooring  was  eased  to  note  the  child's  sweet  song,  that 
floated  out  in  the  deep  forest  stillness.  A  most  touching 
thing,  a  child  singing  in  that  western  wilderness!  Now, 
listening,  they  caught  the  words  of  a  hymn  which  the  home 
missionaries  had  taught  the  border  folk: 

"Ye  little  birds  of  Heaven 

On  every  bough  that  sing, 
You  shame  me  with  your  early  notes, 

While  on  your  morning  wing." 

It  seemed  a  morning  rather  than  an  evening  hymn.  But 
the  little  maid,  for  it  was  a  girl's  voice,  recked  not  and 
perhaps  knew  not  the  difference.  She  sang  on  prettily, 
but  with  that  somewhat  melancholy  strain  that  pervaded 
melodies  of  the  border,  perhaps  induced  by  its  hard  life. 
Winding  their  way  along  the  river,  Andy,  followed  by  the 
General  and  Blanche,  crossed  the  Virginia  rail  fence  which 
encompassed  the  croft  or  adjacent  clearing,  and  peering 
into  the  cabin  found  their  forest  songstress  to  be  a  lass  of 
some  seven  or  eight  years.  She  was  rocking  a  rude  cradle, 
which  was  little  more  than  a  slab  trough  set  on  rough- 
hewed  rockers,  and  chanting  her  lullaby  song  over  a  ruddy 
baby. 

She  rose  up  with  a  startled  look  at  the  sound  of  a 
strange  voice  greeting  her,  as  if  ever  mindful  of  prowling 
savages;  but  was  at  once  composed  at  the  pleasant  sight  of 
friendly  faces,  and  especially  of  a  lady.  She  was  clad  in  a 
coarse  wool  petticoat.  Her  swart  face  showed  the  touch  of 
sun  and  air,  and  was  clean  and  attractive.  Her  long  and 
unkempt  hair  fell  back  over  her  shoulders,  giving  her  an 
unked  seeming,  which  was  heightened  by  her  bare  legs  and 
feet  covered  with  red  marks  of  irritating  insects'  bites. 
She  held  in  her  brown  hand  a  leafy  twig  which  she  had 
used  to  whisk  mosquitoes  and  flies  from  the  infant's  face. 
She  glanced  her  black  eyes  with  wonder  from  face  to  face 
of  the  intruders,  and  then  rested  them  with  unmistakable 
signs  of  admiration  upon  Blanche,  who  must  have  seemed 
to  the  lonely  frontier  lass  like  the  angels  of  which  she  had 
heard. 

When  told  who  they  were  and  for  what  come,  her  face 


THE    LATIMERS.  93 

lit  up  with  pleasant  recognition  of  the  "Fanny."  For  hav 
ing  so  little  to  engage  her  thoughts,  the  child  had  learned 
to  know  the  names  of  and  even  to  recognize  all  the  passing 
boats,  and  from  her  parents  had  caught  an  inkling  of  the 
owners.  To  Andy's  friendly  question  she  said  that  father 
and  mother  and  brother  Aleck  were  in  the  far  clearing, 
pointing  to  rings  and  wreaths  of  smoke  rising  beyond  the 
top  of  the  girdled  woodland.  Listening  now,  the  sound  of 
an  axe  merrily  beating  against  a  hard  tree  trunk  could  be 
heard,  and  its  echoes  answered  over  the  water  from  the 
bluff  on  the  opposite  shore.  Standing  beyond  the  tall 
patch  of  corn,  they  could  see  the  woodman  at  his  chopping, 
and  the  wife  and  mother,  aided  by  a  sturdy  lad  of  ten  years 
or  so,  busy  about  a  brush  heap  which  they  were  burning. 
Logs,  stumps  and  branches  had  all  been  piled  together  and 
were  being  burned,  as  the  shortest  way  to  be  rid  of  them. 

Blanche  wound  her  bugle,  and  that  sound  being  known 
along  the  river  side  as  the  signal  of  a  passing  boat,  the  pio 
neers  ceased  their  toil,  and  came  over  the  clearing,  well 
pleased  to  have  a  chat  with  human  beings,  and  to  hear  news 
of  affairs  "in  the  settlements."  Andy  was  greeted  as  be 
came  an  old  acquaintance.  The  Inspector,  who  feared  but 
a  grudging  welcome,  was  surprised  and  pleased  when  Fergus 
shook  his  hand,  saying  in  a  frank  yet  deferential  way: 

"Giner5!  Xiville,  sir,  ye're  hearty  welcome  to  our  planta 
tion  .  I  dar'  say  you  don't  re-cognise  me,  but  I  mind  yoii 
fine.  When  we  moved  intil  Wes'  Pennsylvania  in  'S-i  from 
Carlisle,  we  were  in  sorry  plight  enough;  but  year  wise 
counsel  and  ginerous  aid  stood  us  in  good  stead.  I've  h'ard 
sore  lies  about  ye  sence,  and  mayhap  some  truths  too  (fer  1 
don't  like  axcise  laws  anny  better  nor  my  neighbors),  but 
I'll  niver  belave  that  a  kind  heart  like  yourn  can  go  so  far 
wrong.  Axcuse  me,  sir,  fer  a-mentionin'  of  it,  but  I  wush 
you  well,  an'  you're  hearty  welcome!" 

That  bluff,  warm-hearted  greeting  was  sweeter  to  the 
General's  palate  than  any  word  he  had  received  for  many 
days.  In  truth,  he  had  contributed  greatly  to  relieve  the 
sufferings  of  settlers  in  his  vicinity.  He  had  accepted  the 
Inspectorship  chiefly  to  gratify  President  Washington;  for 
he  was  a  man  of  wealth,  as  the  term  went,  having  large 
possessions,^  hundred  slaves,  and  one  of  the  finest  man 
sions  in  the  settled  region.  He  had  put  his  all  at  hazard 
for  Colonial  independence,  and  at  his  own  expense  had 


94  THE   LATIMEKS. 

raised  and  equipped  a  company  of  soldiers,  marched  them 
to  Boston,  and  placed  them  with  his  son  under  the  com 
mand  of  Washington.  It  was  with  a  bitter  spirit  that  he 
thought  of  these  things,  and  how  readily  his  fellow  citizens 
forgot  them  when  heaping  maledictions  upon  him  in  these 
heated  days.  All  the  more,  therefore,  did  this  woodman's 
greeting  give  him  pleasure,  and  awake  generous  emotions 
which  late  events  had  embittered. 

The  pioneer's  wife  joined  in  the  welcome  with  cordial 
hospitality;  a  trait  which  characterized  the  early  settlers, 
and  which,  being  graft  upon  the  customs  and  so  upon  the 
characters  of  that  and  the  next  generation,  laid  the  founda 
tion  in  good  heredity  for  many  of  the  beneficent  schemes 
which  honor  and  bless  the  present  age. 

Mrs.  Kate  Kelly  was  a  fair  sample  of  the  sturdy  pioneer 
women  whose  vigorous  bodies,  good  sense  and  industry,  and 
brave  hearts  made  them  fit  mates  for  the  men  who  con 
quered  the  wilderness.  She  was  clad  in  a  linsey-woolsey  pet 
ticoat,  and  coarse  linen  waist  whose  short  sleeves  displayed 
muscular  arms  brown  with  work.  A  home-made  kerchief 
was  folded  across  her  throat  and  bust,  and  fastened  with  a 
thorn.  She  wore  moccasins,  and  had  a  sun  bonnet  of  linsey 
built  in  the  scoop  fashion  that  yet  prevails  in  some  rural 
parts.  It  was  furnished  with  many  plaits,  into  which  were 
thrust  strips  of  birch  bark  in  lieu  of  stiff  paper,  which  kept 
the  headgear  in  shape,  and  were  taken  out  when  the  bonnet 
must  go  to  the  wash.  She  was  not  at  all  abashed  in  the 
presence  of  her  nicely-attired  lady  guest,  but  with  matronly 
independence,  though  with  becoming  modesty,  made  all 
welcome  to  her  cabin. 

As  the  camp  must  be  prepared  for  the  night,  the  men 
excused  themselves,  leaving  Blanche  with  Mrs.  Kate  to 
inspect  the  cabin  and  gossip  over  divers  affairs.  However., 
the  offer  of  milk  was  accepted,  and  that  it  might  be  fresh 
from  the  cows,  for  milking  time  was  now  come  and  the 
day's  work  about  done,  Mrs.  Kate  went  out  to  the  milking, 
wrhile  Fergus  joined  the  men  in  their  duties.  It  was  agreed 
that  the  settler's  family  should  sup  with  them  in  the  open, 
much  to  the  delight  of  Janet  and  Aleck.  As  Gen.  Neville 
had  stored  the  boat  with  sundries  which  were  luxuries 
alongside  the  mush  and  milk,  pone  cake  and  bacon,  hominy 
and  game  that  formed  the  staple  food  of  the  cabin,  the 
children  carried  the  feast  in  memory  many  a  day. 


THE   LATIMEES.  95 

Blanche  went  with  Mrs.  Kate  and  got  thus  a  good  view 
of  the  home  surroundings.  A  clearing  around  the  house 
was  given  up  to  a  field  of  Indian  corn  and  pumpkins,  a 
patch  of  potatoes  and  a  small  planting  of  flax.  Beyond  this 
the  high  timber  was  girdled,  or  ringed  around  the  butt 
with  an  outchopped  belt,  to  kill  the  leaves  and  cut  off  the 
shade,  and  thus  allow  a  few  plants  to  grow  between,  time 
and  help  being  too  scant  to  permit  full  clearing  at  present. 
A  sty  close  by  held  a  sow  and  a  litter  of  pigs.  Other  pork 
ers  were  running  wild  in  the  woods,  feeding  upon  the  rich 
mast.  Beech  nuts,  hickory  nuts,  pig  nuts  and  acorns  were 
abundant  in  their  season,  not  to  speak  of  other  lush  morsels 
that  swine  affect. 

"But  what  good  can  they  do  you/'  quoth  Blanche,  "run 
ning  wild  that  way  in  the  woods?" 

What  good?  was  the  echoed  answer,  as  if  surprised 
at  such  a  question.  Had  they  not  guns?  And  though  Fer 
gus  commonly  gave  chase  when  they  wanted  pork,  Mrs. 
Kate  was  by  no  means  dependent  on  him.  She  could  take 
her  own  rifle  from  the  buckhorn  bracket  over  the  fireplace, 
and  shoot  a  wild  porker,  or  other  wild  beast,  for  that 
matter. 

It  would  be  ill  housekeeping  in  the  wilderness,  the 
housewife  continued,  if  it  were  not  for  the  hog.  To  say 
nothing  of  its  flesh  in  various  forms,  as  ham,  sausage,  side 
meat,  souse  and  spare  ribs,  the  bristles  helped  in  the  rude 
sewing  in  vogue  through  the  use  of  leather  and  deer-skin 
clothing.  Brushes,  too,  came  of  them,  though  not  as  ser 
viceable  as  might  be.  Moreover  (and  the  cabin  mistress 
seemed  to  think  this  no  small  matter),  the  pigs  were  ene 
mies  of  rattlesnakes  and  copperheads.  Oh!  these  were  the 
terror  of  her  life,  next  the  savages.  She  trembled  not  for 
herself  alone,  but  for  the  children,  and  never  knew  when 
they  might  be  poisoned  unto  death.  Blessed  Ireland,  where 
no  snakes  ever  harbored !  That  very  day  had  they  unnested 
and  slain  a  brood  of  rattlers  (Ugh!) — and  burnt  them  in 
the  brush  fire  with  uncommon  joy. 

When  the  pigs  were  turned  loose  so  far  from  fleeing 
from  the  snakes  they  sought  them.  They  were  agile  in 
avoiding  the  poisonous  fangs,  and  seizing  the  reptile,  would 
tear  it  to  pieces,  or  throw  their  sharp  hoofs  upon  it  and 
stamp  it  to  death.  Ay,  indeed,  they  were  useful  animals, 
a  true  gift  of  God  to  poor  pioneers!  Thus  Blanche  learned, 


96  THE    LATIMERS. 

and  we  may  also,  that  the  "Great  American  Hog,"  the  sub 
ject  of  much  modern  diplomacy,  has  been  a  considerable 
factor  in  the  progress  of  civilization.  Who  will  rear  a 
statue  to  the  honor  of  this  humble  beast? 

Turning  from  her  pig-sty,  Mrs.  Kate  came  into  the 
stable  yard  where  three  cows  were  nipping  wisps  of  hay 
from  a  rick  of  tall  stakes,  a  number  of  which,  crossed  like 
the  letter  X,  were  placed  close  together,  and  the  hay  tossed 
into  the  open  top.  Blanche  thought  it  strange  that  cows 
with  so  much  pasturage  would  take  hay. 

"Ah,  but  it's  salted!"  quoth  Mrs.  Kate.  Salt  was  a  most 
costly  commodity,  but  the  cows  were  almost  half  their  liv 
ing,  with  milk  and  cream,  and  butter,  and  bonny-clabber, 
and  what  the  Pennsylvania  Dutch  call  smearkase.  So  a 
pinch  of  salt  in  a  pan  of  water  well  sprinkled  over  the  hay 
brought  the  cows  home  regularly  to  the  evening  milking; 
for,  poor  things,  they  loved  the  salt  and  needed  it,  too,  as 
much  as  themselves. 

The  tinkle  of  a  bell  tied  about  the  throat  of  one  of  the 
cows  ever  and  anon  dropped  a  pleasant  note  upon  the  quiet 
evening  air.  "Why  do  you  bell  the  cow?"  asked  Blanche, 
"'and  why  not  all  of  the  herd  ?" 

One  was  quite  enough,  the  housewife  averred;  for  being 
sociable  creatures,  the  kine  would  be  sure  to  keep  together. 
The  sound  of  one  bell  served  as  well  as  several,  for  it  gave 
warning  of  the  presence  of  the  herd.  The  forestry  was  so 
thick  around  them  that  the  cows  need  stray  but  a  short  way 
to  be  out  of  sight.  Then,  whether  evening  or  morning,  she 
knew  just  where  to  go  to  bring  them  in.  And  oh!  it  was  in 
deed  a  comely  sound,  the  tink-tinkle  of  the  bell  as  the  beast 
walked  along  and  nipped  the  grass;  or  the  sharper  rink- 
tink,  tink-a-link,  as  she  swung  her  head  back  to  whisk  off 
the  flies  and  gnats.  Ever  in  the  morning  that  was  the 
first  sound  listened  for  through  the  river  mist.  When  she 
had  nearby  neighbors,  and  the  herds  got  together,  so  nicely 
did  her  ear  get  tuned  to  the  sound  of  her  own  cow  bell,  that 
she  could  tell  it  amid  all  the  clangor  of  the  rest,  as  one 
could  tell  the  voice  of  her  own  child  in  the  hullabaloo  of 
a  score  of  romping  children. 

When  the  bairns  were  small,  she  would  tie  them  in  bed 
to  hinder  them  from  gadding  off,  and  to  fend  them  from 
fire  and  snakes.  Then  taking  trail  by  the  tinkling  of  the 
bell,  she  would  make  her  way  through  the  rank  growth,  all 


THE   LATIMERS.  97 

beaded  with  dew,  to  where  the  cattle  grazed;  and  so  back  to 
get  the  breakfast  with  dabbled  skirts,  and  moccasins  soak 
ing  wet  and  clammy  to  the  feet.  No!  your  deerskin  shoes 
may  be  pretty,  and  all  that,  but  in  wet  weather  they  are 
only  a  respectable  way  of  going  barefoot !  How  she  missed 
the  stout  leathern  shoes  and  the  warm  wool  clothing  of 
dear  old  Ulster!  "Ah  well,  but  we've  a  lordly  domain  of 
our  own/7  quoth  Mrs.  Kate,  "and  half  our  acreage  would  be 
a  noble  barony  in  the  auld  country." 

Thus  she  prattled  on,  while  the  milk  was  squeezed  from 
the  udders  into  foaming  buckets,  with  many  a  cooing  word 
as  "so-oh,  sookey!  ho-oh,  bossy!"  and  the  like,  such  as  milk 
maids  are  wont  to  soothe  their  cattle  with.  Then  they 
returned  to  the  cabin,  not  forgetting  to  look  into  the  log 
stable  where  two  horses  of  excellent  breed  were  haltered  to 
their  feeding  trough.  Horses,  though  at  first  scarce  on 
the  border,  soon  became  quite  plentiful,  as  much  attention 
was  paid  to  breeding  them  because  of  their  great  service 
at  plowing,  packing  and  pulling,  and  for  saddle  use  on  the 
warpath  or  the  chase. 

Thus  four  beasts,  the  hog,  dog,  cow,  and  horse,  have 
jointly  with  man  subdued  the  mighty  wilderness.  The 
sheep,  too,  has  had  its  part;  but  while  wolves  were  plenty 
frontier  flocks  grew  slowly.  Therefore,  wool  came  in  more 
tardily  to  add  to  the  pioneer's  comfort,  who,  driven  by  neces 
sity,  made  use  of  dressed  skins,  and  the  flax  with  which  his 
old  country  life  had  made  him  familiar. 

By  this  time  evening  had  come.  The  camp-fire  was  flar 
ing  on  the  river  bank,  and  its  lurid  tongues  were  reflected 
on  the  still  water  of  the  little  cove.  Beyond  the  girdled 
wood  the  brush  fire  was  burning  with  a  steady  glow,  the 
flames  having  reached  the  heart  of  the  pile  and  fastened 
upon  the  heavy  logs,  which  added  to  the  weird  effect  of 
night  in  the  forest.  The  General's  tent  had  been  pitched 
for  the  first  time,  and  therein  Blanche's  quarters  estab 
lished. 

The  boat  table  was  brought  ashore  and  spread  with  sun 
dry  stores,  while  Andy,  as  chief  cook,  prepared  the  game 
and  Johnny-cake  on  the  red,  clean  coals,  in  that  implement 
known  to  pioneers  as  a  "Dutch  oven/'  Roasting  ears,  too, 
contributed  by  Fergus  from  ^  is  field  of  green  corn,  and 
baked  in  their  husks  within  the  hot  ashes,  added  a  luscious 
bite  to  the  bill  of  fare.  All  being  seated,  the  General  at  the 
7 


98  THE   LATIMEES. 

head  said  grace,  or,  asked  a  blessing,  as  it  was  there  called, 
a  matter  in  which  he  was  punctilious.  Then,  all  fell-to 
heartily;  and  it  was  fine  to  see  the  Inspector's  courtly  man 
ner  with  no  smack  of  superiority,  and  the  jollity  and  good 
will  of  all.  The  negro  caught  his  master's  urbanity  and 
served  all,  Mrs.  Kate  said  afterwards,  "as  though  we  were 
quality  folk!"  So  indeed  they  were,  of  the  finest  sort,  if 
the  world  only  knew  it. 

There  was  at  least  one  of  the  company  who  for  a  time 
had  his  enjoyment  of  the  meal  much  abridged.  The  boy 
Aleck  found  before  him,  as  he  sat  on  his  log  seat,  a  little 
cup  (as  he  afterwards  related)  "stood  up  inside  a  bigger 
one,  with  some  brownish  lookin'  stuff  in  it,  which  was 
nuther  b'iled  milk  nor  broth."  What  could  it  be?  And 
what  to  do  with  the  little  cups  and  wee  bit  cutty  spoon  that 
belonged  to  them,  he  could  not  guess.  He  could  make  a 
fairish  horn  spoon,  and  whittle  out  a  wooden  one,  and  knew 
bravely  what  to  do  with  them  too,  when  it  came  to  venison 
soup,  and  mush  and  milk,  and  succotash.  But  these  toys? 
Tush! 

However,  he  would  ask  Janet.  But  she  was  as  dazed  as 
he,  and  shook  her  frowsy  pate  with  a  despairing  negative. 
Ah!  he  would  watch  the  lady  and  the  other  big  folks.  They 
lifted  the  cup  and  supped  from  it.  So  did  he.  Ugh!  the 
drink  was  nauseous  beyond  anything  he  ever  had  tasted. 
How  he  longed  to  sputter  it  out!  But  his  pride  checked 
him,  and  with  the  spirit  of  an  Indian,  he  gulped  down  the 
deuced  black  draught,  and  made  no  wry  face,  though  the 
tears  streamed  from  his  eyes.  But  must  he  drink  it  all? 
Ay,  that  he  would  if  it  choked  him! 

When  the  vessel  was  empty,  and  Hannibal  came  with 
his  bland  manner  to  refill  it,  the  boy  inwardly  cursed  the 
blackamoor,  yet  dare  not  say  "no,"  but,  sore  distressed, 
heroically  undertook  the  second  helping.  Now  he  noticed 
that  some  put  cream  into  the  mess,  which  he  also  did,  and 
that  whitened  the  black  draught,  but  slopped  it  over  into 
the  "big  cup"  beneath.  Still,  it  tasted  a  little  better. 
Then  he  noticed  that  some  put  sugar  within  and  stirred  it 
with  their  cutty  spoons.  That  he  also  did,  and  found  the 
drink  more  palatable,  but  nasty  still.  Dear  heart!  could 
he  only  have  the  sugar  without  the  other! 

The  lady  must  have  read  his  thoughts,  for  there  was  a 
merry  look  in  her  bright  eyes  as  she  turned  them  upon  him, 


THE    LATIMERS.  99 

and  then  a  sorry  one,  as  she  said:  "Here,  Hannibal,  take 
some  of  this  cake  to  the  children.  And  fetch  away  their 
cups  and  saucers  and  give  them  some  sugar.  I  dare  say 
they  have  had  enough  coffee." 

Coffee!  And  so  that  nasty  truck  was  coffee,  whose  loss 
he  had  heard  his  folk  bemoan  so  often,  as  they  vaunted  its 
goodness?  Well!  for  all  him,  the  darky  might  keep  it  in 
his  big  flagon,  or  let  the  others  quaff  their  fill!  Now,  deliv 
ered  from  his  misery,  he  contentedly  regaled  himself  with 
his  sweets.  Do  not  be  incredulous,  dear  reader,  for  this  a 
true  tale  of  the  experience  of  a  frontier  lad,  at  his  first  sight 
of  cup  and  saucer,  and  first  taste  of  coffee. 

John's  hap  was  to  get  a  seat  by  Blanche,  and  he  could 
not  but  note  how  bright  and  pretty  her  face  looked  in  the 
glare  of  the  camp  fire.  Her  dainty  manners,  too,  he  noted, 
and  contrasting  them  with  his  own  rude  ways  felt  awkward 
and  embarrassed.  As  graceful  as  the  wild  deer  when  at  his 
own  proper  work  and  sport,  he  now  felt  somehow  out  of 
place,  though  in  sooth  he  knew  no  other  place  he  would 
choose  rather  to  be  in.  He  was  not,  indeed,  as  great  a 
novice  as  the  boy  Aleck  in  the  ways  of  the  gentry.  As  a 
student  in  the  Log  Academy  he  had  come  in  contact  with 
many  superior  people;  and  some  of  the  old-style  folks  with 
courtly  manners  were  interspersed  here  and  there  among 
the  settlers.  His  business  with  the  officers  of  the  garrison 
at  Fort  Pitt,  and  those  of  the  troops  already  beginning  to 
rendezvous  for  Gen.  Wayne's  Indian  expedition,  had  also 
put  something  of  an  edge  upon  his  backwoods  behavior,  to 
say  nothing  of  his  own  natural  instinct. 

Nevertheless,  as  he  drew  his  hunting  knife  from  his 
belt  and  attacked  his  meal  (for  he  was  ravenously  hungry), 
there  was  a  pull  upon  him,  and  an  embarrassment  that 
came,  he  was  conscious,  from  his  nearness  to  Blanche  Old- 
ham.  He  felt  the  softening  influence  as  a  check  upon  his 
natural  eagerness  of  hunger,  and  like  Aleck,  though  with 
better  disguise,  he  observed  her  table  manners  and  modified 
his  own  thereby.  Withal,  he  felt  himself  alongside  of  her 
but  a  clumsy,  blundering  clodhopper.  Then  he  flushed, 
and  thought  within  himself  what  a  fool  he  was!  And  what 
difference  could  it  make  what  this  lady  might  think  of  him? 
And  why  should  he  ply  his  knife  a  whit  more  gently  for 
her,  or  dally  with  his  food?  So  the  lusty  fellow  chafed 
while  the  fire  burned  within  him,  and  little  thought  that 


100  THE    LATIMERS. 

the  young  woman  at  his  side  gave  no  heed  at  all  to  his  man 
ners,  whether  good  or  bad,  but  only  admired  his  manly 
beauty,  and  wondered  how  such  as  he  could  ever  have  come 
up  in  such  uncouth  surroundings. 

Ah,  fair  lady,  you  may  learn  by  and  by,  if  ycu  have 
much  to  do  with  these  frontiersmen,  that  they  are  not  so 
different  in  their  make-up,  take  them  by  and  large,  from  the 
remainder  of  mankind.  For  the  gentle  and  the  simple,  the 
noble  and  the  base  are  of  every  race  and  cult,  and  so  quite 
independent  of  local  rules  and  fashions.  John  Randolph  of 
Roanoke  once  said,  speaking  of  the  decline  of  the  bland 
and  courtly  manners  of  the  old  school,  that  he  knew  of 
but  one  real  gentleman  left  in  Virginia,  and  he  was  an  old, 
gray-headed  slave.  Verily!  True  nobility,  like  love,  laughs 
at  locksmiths;  and,  who  would  think  it?  even  Blanche  Old- 
ham  might  come  to  love  a  forester. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  BRAVE  DAYS  OF  OLD. 

Now  the  talk  came  to  the  news  of  Washington  County, 
and  there  it  stayed  for  the  rest  of  the  evening;  for  the 
Kellys  were  hungry  for  tidings  of  their  old  friends.  Being 
religious  folk,  like  so  many  of  the  settlers  in  those  parts, 
the  most  important  intelligence  was  the  late  death  of  their 
beloved  friend  and  pastor,  the  Rev.  Joseph  Smith,  one 
of  the  earliest  and  most  devout  of  the  missionaries. 
He  was  a  fine  classical  scholar,  a  preacher  of  moving 
eloquence  and  most  devout  piety.  He  always  kept  his 
cloak  near  his  bed,  that,  waking  up  at  night,  he  might 
throw  it  over  him  and  rise  to  spend  a  season  of  prayer. 
Withal  he  was  brave,  manly,  and  rarely  gifted  with  good 
sense  to  counsel  and  lead  his  people.  A  great  loss,  such  a 
man,  thought  Gen.  Neville,  to  a  new  country  where  moral 
restraints  were  so  much  needed,  and  the  few  pastors  were 
the  only  public  teachers  of  religion,  morality  and  civil  duty. 

So  drifted  John  Latimer  into  the  conversation,  and 
prompted  by  Andy,  he  told  the  story  of  his  father's  first 
flat-boat  journey  to  New  Orleans.  Well  he  told  it,  too; 
halting  somewhat  at  first,  but  warming  with  his  subject, 


THE   LATIMERS.  :  101 

and  having  a  natural  gift,  put  into  it  'a  color  and  pathos 
that  made  all  hearts  tingle,  and  biwgfet  "th4  t^a*rs; 
than  once  to  Blanche's  eyes.      '•-•  *  ^  :  ,* :  i     V  lja  i 


Thus  it  came  about.  Mr.  Smith  was  settled  over  the 
congregation  of  Cross  Creek  and  Upper  Buffalo. 

"What  an  odd  name  for  a  church!"  quoth  Blanche. 

"True  enough/'  interposed  the  General.  "Our  people 
have  the  habit  of  naming  their  places  of  worship  from 
their  localities,  particularly  from  the  creeks  and  runs  near 
which  they  are  always  built.  This  sometimes  gives  an  un 
couth,  not  to  say  irreverent  title,  as  for  example,  the 
'Eaccoon  Creek  Church/  or  the  'Church  of  Horseshoe  Bot 
tom/  But  our  Scotch-Irish  settlers  would  think  that  it 
savored  of  the  'dregs  of  prelacy'  to  name  a  meeting  house 
'St.  Andrew'  or  'St.  Paul/  although  their  Scottish  ances 
tors  had  no  scruples,  it  appears,  in  holding  to  such  titles. 
Excuse  my  interruption,  Captain.  Go  on  with  your  story." 

The  people  of  that  section,  John  continued,  had 
been  anxious  for  a  pastor  of  their  own  faith  and  order,  and 
pledged  him  what  was  thought  a  competent  sum  for  a  liv 
ing;  and  so  it  was,  if  he  could  have  gotten  it.  It  was  quite 
necessary  that,  like  his  neighbors,  he  should  till  a  farm  and 
eke  out  his  stipend,  and  to  that  he  gladly  assented.  But 
being  limited  as  to  locality,  he  must  buy  a  farm  convenient 
to  the  meeting  house.  Having  no  money,  he  bought  his 
land  on  credit,  promising  to  p?.y  with  the  salary  pledged 
by  his  people.  So  he  set  to  work,  lovingly,  zealously,  and 
successfully. 

He  was  truer  to  his  flock  than  they  to  him,  for  after 
several  years  his  salary  was  far  in  arrears.  There  was  little 
or  no  money  in  circulation.  Plenty  of  wheat  there  was, 
but  no  market,  and  a  shilling  (twelve  and  a  half  cents)  a 
bushel  in  cash  was  its  highest  price.  Salt  had  to  be  brought 
across  the  mountains  on  pack  horses,  and  was  worth  eight 
dollars  a  bushel.  They  were  worse  off  for  a  grain  market 
then  than  folks  are  now  (quoth  John),  which  was  saying 
a  good  deal. 

So  matters  stood  when  the  time  came  for  the  last 
"payment  on  Mr.  Smith's  farm,  and  he  was  told  that  he  must 
pay  or  go.  Three  full  years'  salaries  were  due,  and  for  lack 


THE    LATIMERS. 


of  this  ^his'  land  and  Tmprovements  must  be  lost,  and  his 
^pifatatff  db&h$ope4  /In1- tins  strait  the  people  of  the  two 
"  cangregatiwis  tfe£e.dklled -together,  and  the  case  laid  before 
them.    They  were  unable  to  pay  a  tithe  of  their  debt,  and 
no  money  could  be  borrowed.     Plan  after  plan  was  sug 
gested  and  abandoned,  and  so  in  despair  they  adjourned  to 
meet  the  next  week.       • 

Meanwhile,  a  subscription  of  wheat  was  proposed. 
There  was  nothing  else  to  do,  it  seemed;  and  at  Moore's 
Mill,  the  only  grist  mill  in  the  county,  they  found  they 
could  get  their  wheat  ground  on  reasonable  terms.  So, 
when  the  congregational  meeting  gathered,  a  great  quantity 
was  subscribed,  and  afterward  packed  on  horses,  in  some 
cases  twenty  or  thirty  miles,  to  mill,  where  in  a  month's 
time  it  was  made  into  floui. 

Again  the  people  were  assembled.  The  usual  prayer 
being  had,  the  question  came  up,  "Who  will  run  the  flour 
to  New  Orleans  for  sale?" 

John  Latimer,  who  had  lately  made  that  journey, 
could  speak  understandingly  of  its  present  hardships  and 
dangers,  but  a  few  years  ago  these  were  immensely  greater. 
So  then,  it  was  a  startling  question,  that,  with  which  the 
congregation  had  to  wrestle.  It  was  a  perilous  adventure, 
perilous  in  the  extreme.  Nearly  all  the  way  was  a  wilder 
ness.  The  air  was  full  of  gloomy  tales  of  the  treacherous 
Indians  who  lined  the  river  banks.  More  than  one  boat's 
crew  had  gone  on  that  journey  and  come  back  no  more.  If 
New  Orleans  was  reached  safely,  the  return  journey  was 
either  by  sea  or  a  march  over  a  stretch  of  two  thousand 
miles,  for  the  boats  could  not  be  brought  up  the  river 
so  far  against  the  current.  Much  of  this  way  was  through 
swamps  and  everglades  poisoned  with  fevers,  and  all  of  it 
beset  by  roving  savages,  and  lawless  robber  bands  the 
scum  of  exiled  English  criminals  and  Eastern  desperadoes. 
Even  should  the  adventurers  be  so  fortunate  as  to  return, 
their  trip  must  cost  them  months  of  time.  It  was  a  stub 
born  question  and  a  sore  test  that, — "Who  will  run  the  flour 
to  New  Orleans?"  Who  would  give  the  time,  endure  the 
toil,  brave  the  danger? 

There  was  silence  in  the  meeting,  and  they  were  no 
cowards,  those  hardy  pioneers,  with  men  like  Adam  and 
Andrew  Poe  among  them.  Not  a  volunteer  offered  him 
self,  neither  young  nor  middle-aged — not  one.  The  scheme 


THE   LATIMERS.  103 

was  like  to  fail.  Yes,  it  had  failed!  There  was  naught  to 
do  but  to  adjourn  the  meeting,  and  go  home,  and  let  their 
pastor  leave.  Some  of  the  women,  in  truth,  gritted  their 
teeth  and  wished  they  were  men!  However,  it  was  noted 
that  they  who  had  men  folks  fit  to  go,  were  not  so  free  of 
speech.  There  was  an  awful  silence,  which  at  last  was 
broken  by  a  voice  somewhat  shaken  with  age  and  trem 
bling  with  emotion: 

"Here  I  am,  send  me  I" 

Every  eye  turned  upon  the  speaker.  It  was  Father 
Smiley,  an  elder  in  the  church,  sixty-four  years  old,  an  age 
which  in  frontier  countries  is  riper  than  elsewhere,  for  ex 
posure  and  toil  and  nerve-fret  through  Indian  perils,  make 
deep  draughts  upon  vital  forces.  He  was  a  hoary-headed 
man,  and  there  he  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  astonished 
assembly,  saying  again:  "Here  I  am,  send  me!" 

Well,  there  followed  a  strange  scene,  John  had  heard 
it  said.  The  people  were  swayed  with  emotion  like  the 
forest  leaves  before  a  high  wind.  Father  Smiley's  offer  was 
like  a  clap  out  of  a  black  thunderhead,  which  breaks  up 
the  cloud  and  lets  out  the  rain.  Men  and  women  were 
melted  into  tears,  as  their  venerated  and  venerable  elder 
stood  there  devoting  himself  to  the  work  from  which  they 
had  shrunk.  They  rose  and  clustered  around  the  old  man 
with  question  and  wonder  and  remonstrance,  only  to  learn 
that  his  resolution  was  fixed.  Rather  than  lose  their  pastor 
he  would  brave  danger,  toil  and  death. 

"But  he  could  not  go  alone?"  asked  Blanche. 

No,  surely  not  alone;  but  some  one,  it  was  thought, 
would  now  volunteer  to  consort  with  him.  Even  then  the 
matter  hung  fire.  At  last  Luke  Latimer  offered,  and 
another  young  man  came  forward  to  volunteer  as  assistant 
with  him,  to  whom  if  the  enterprise  were  successful,  a  large 
reward  was  promised. 

The  day  came  for  starting.  There  lay  the  boat  on  the 
Monongahela,  loaded  with  its  freight  of  flour  coopered 
snugly  by  willing  hands.  Never  a  flat  boat  there  or  else 
where,  before  or  since,  had  such  a  send-off  as  that.  At  the 
meeting  house  the  pastor  had  met  his  flock,  and  there  were 
none  wanting,  you  may  be  sure,  who  could  come  forth  and 
beseech  God  for  the  adventurers.  Young  and  old,  from  far 
and  near,  from  love  of  Father  Smiley  Lnd  their  deep  in 
terest  in  his  mission,  had  gathered  together. 


104  THE   LATIMERS. 

"Would  they  not  go  down  to  the  river/'  some  one 
asked,  "to  speed  the  voyagers  thence  with  their  presence 
and  cheers?" 

"Yes,  that  they  would!"  Then,  though  the  church  was 
full  fifteen  miles  away  from  the  landing,  forth  they  went 
with  their  pastor  at  their  head,  and  came  down  to  the  bank 
of  the  river,  to  bid  the  old  man  and  his  aids  adieu.  Was 
there  ever  a  parade  like  that?  Over  rough  bridle  roads  and 
forest  trails,  within  the  sights  and  sounds  of  that  maiden 
land  still  with  its  wilderness  robes  upon  it,  marched  they 
on  to  the  Monongahela. 

Now  they  assembled  upon  the  green  sloping  shore, 
while  the  man  of  God  offered  a  prayer,  tearful,  tender,  and 
mighty  with  fervent  trust  in  the  Heavenly  Guide  of  men 
Who  had  led  Israel  of  old  through  the  wilderness  journey. 
This  ended,  they  sang  the  twenty-third  Psalm  in  the  old 
Scotch  version.  How  the  woods  and  waters  rang  with  it, 
and  the  echoes  trembled  over  the  wooded  hills  and  the 
bosky  bluffs  foment  them! 

"The  Lord's  my  Shepherd,  I'll  not  want, 

He  makes  me  down  to  lie 
In  pastures  green;  He  leadeth  me 

The  quiet  waters  by. 
Yea,  though  I  walk  in  Death's  dark  vale, 

Yet  will  I  fear  no  ill, 
For  Thou  art  with  me,  and  Thy  rod 

And  staff  me  comfort  still." 

"There,"  said  the  old  Scotchman,  "untie  the  cable,  and 
let  us  see  what  the  Lord  will  do  for  us!" 

"Good-bye!  God  bless  you!"  thundered  forth  from  the 
throng,  as  the  boat  slowly  floated  away,  down  the  Mononga 
hela.  Then  there  was  a  great  silence  until  the  vessel  was 
lost  behind  the  next  jutting  curve,  and  sadly  the  people 
dispersed. 

Four  months  passed  with  no  word  of  Father  Smiley. 
Five,  six  months  were  gone,  and  many  hearts  were  fearful 
that  ill  had  befallen  him.  Seven,  eight  months  passed,  and 
few  there  were  who  hoped  to  see  his  dear  face  more.  But 
always  in  the  public  service  of  God's  House,  and  in  family 
worship  and  secret  prayer,  Father  Smiley  and  his  forlorn 
hope  were  remembered.  At  last,  nine  months  and  more 
had  gone  since  the  expedition  went  forth,  and  the  most 
sanguine  had  surrendered  hope,  and  waited  for  Eternity 
to  uncover  the  hero's  fate. 


THE   LATIMEES.  105 

So  came  about,,  once  more,  the  Sabbath  day,  and  as 
the  people  gathered  to  worship  in  their  log  sanctuary,  lo! 
on  the  rude  bench  before  the  pulpit  where  the  elders  were 
wont  to  sit,  there  sat  Father  Smiley,  composed  and  devout! 

Dear,  dear!  How  hearts  leaped  up,  and  tears  welled 
forth,  and  grateful  spirits  up  went  to  God  in  Heaven  for 
this  mercy!  When  they  came  to  the  psalm  the  minister 
gave  forth,  as  on  the  river  bank,  at  the  parting: 

"The  Lord's  my  Shepherd,  I'll  not  want. 

There  was  no  room  to  line  it  out,  for  the  people  quite 
ran  away  from  the  precentor  and  sang  off-hand.  It  was  a 
merry  welcome,  and  most  devout  that  the  old  man  had;  and 
the  young  men  who  had  shared  his  adventure  shared  also 
his  loving  greeting. 

When  it  came'  to  the  intimations,  the  people  were 
asked  to  assemble  at  early  candle-lighting  next  day  and 
hear  the  report.  So  once  more  all  were  there  together,  and 
when  thanks  had  been  rendered  to  Almighty  God  for  his 
safe  return,  Father  Smiley  arose  and  told  his  story.  He 
touched  lightly  enough  on  his  perils  and  labors  which, 
indeed,  John  supposed,  judging  from  his  father's  ac 
count,  would  have  taken  a  week  for  the  telling.  But  the 
gist  of  it  was  that  the  Lord  had  prospered  his  mission;  that 
he  had  sold  the  flour  for  twenty-seven  dollars  a  barrel,  and 
got  safely  back.  So  said,  he  drew  forth  a  leathern  purse, 
and  canting  it  over  the  Communion  table,  pulled  the 
thongs,  and  out  ran  a  clinking  stream  of  golden  coins  and 
made  a  shining  hoard  the  like  of  which  many  of  the  spec 
tators  had  never  seen  before. 

From  this  was  set  forth,  as  agreed,  for  each  of  the  aids 
a  hundred  dollars.  Then  Father  Smiley  was  asked  to  name 
his  charges  for  the  nine  months'  services.  He  meekly 
answered  that  he  thought  he  ought  to  have  the  same  as  one 
of  the  young  men,  though  he  had  not  done  quite  as  much 
work. 

"Ay,  forsooth,  good  man;  God  bless  him!"  quoth  the 
people. 

It  was  forthwith  proponed  to  pay  him  three  hundred 
dollars;  which,  however,  he  sturdily  refused  to  take  until 
the  pastor's  account  was  fully  satisfied.  Then  they  counted 
the  money.  All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  elders  as  they  sat 


106  THE   LATIMERS. 

there  underneath  the  pulpit,  in  the  dim  light  of  the  candle 
dips,  and  told  the  coin,  laying  down  the  pieces  with  a  merry 
click  and  chink  that  sounded  forth  sweetly  in  the  ears  of 
the  eager  people. 

"What  is  the  tale?  What  is  the  tale?"  they  cried  when 
the  elders  were  done. 

To  make  end  of  the  story,  there  was  enough  to  pay  the 
three  years'  salary  due  Mr.  Smith,  and  another  year's  salary 
in  advance;  to  reward  Father  Smiley  with  three  hundred 
dollars,  and  to  leave  a  goodly  dividend  to  those  who  had 
contributed  money  to  build  the  flat  boat  and  furnish  the 
needful  supplies  for  the  expedition.  It  was  over-canny  on 
their  part,  some  thought,  to  receive  all  this  remainder,  since 
its  value  came  almost  wholly  from  Father  Smiley's  adven 
ture;  but  let  that  pass!  Thus  their  debts  were  paid,  their 
pastor  fully  relieved,  and  until  his  late  lamented  death,  he 
broke  for  them  the  bread  of  life.  Now  th^  good  man  slesps 
in  the  churchyard  at  Upper  Buffalo,  and  Father  Smiley's 
bones  rest  not  far  from  his. 

The  Inspector  listened  with  marked  pleasure  to  the 
young  man's  recital,  and  seemed  unusually  thoughtful 
when  all  was  done.  At  length,  breaking  the  silence,  he 
said:  "Well,  Captain  John,  that  is  a  moving  tale  and  well 
told.  I've  been  thinking  that  it  uncovers,  better  than  any 
thing  I  know,  the  hard  straits  of  our  borderers  in  the  matter 
of  their  crops.  I  dare  say  you  think  me  severe  in  my  offi 
cial  duties;  but,  in  truth,  I  have  often  felt  the  deepest  sym 
pathy  with  the  settlers  who  are  driven  to  such  stress  and 
peril  to  find  a  market,  without  which  their  crops  lie  worth 
less  on  their  hands.  No  doubt,  the  Government  does  not 
sufficiently  apprehend  the  need  that  drives  them  to  put 
their  grain  into  the  most  portable  and  salable  compass;  for 
that  is  the  problem  that  lies  at  the  root  of  all  our  revenue 
troubles.  It's  mainly  a  question  of  transportation,  and 
Western  civilization  waits  upon  its  solution.  Ah,  me!"  He 
sighed  as  he  rose  from  the  table.  "It  is  truly  a  hard  task 
at  times  to  know  one's  duty;  and  yet  harder  to  do  it  when 
it  pinches  and  angers  one's  friends  and  neighbors!" 

Now  preparations  were  made  for  bed.  The  children, 
who  had  long  been  yawning,  were  led  away  by  their  parents 
to  the  cabin.  Featherfoot,  who  had  declined  to  sit  at  table 
with  the  others,  not  liking  the  restraint,  and  ate  by  the 
camp  fire,  shared  a  moiety  of  the  tent  with  Blanche.  The 


THE   LATIMERS.  107 

General  slept  in  the  other  part,  a  blanket  screen  being 
hung  between.  The  newly  built  boat-cuddy  served  for  the 
others,  though  John  again  divided  the  night  watch  with 
Andy.  No  incident,  however,  disturbed  the  slumbers  of  the 
camp,  and  no  sounds  save  the  usual  cries  of  night-prowling 
birds  and  beasts,  broke  the  wilderness  stillness. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

LOVE-MAKING  IN  A  CABIN  A  HUNDRED  TEARS  AGO. 

The  incident  at  Mingo  Bottom  was  so  pleasing  to  Gen. 
Neville  that  he  concluded  to  tarry  for  a  day's  shooting. 
John  remained  to  protect  the  boat  and  care  for  Blanche, 
and  Fergus  volunteering  to  serve  as  guide,  the  two  set  out 
together  accompanied  by  Hannibal.  The  day  wore  on 
pleasantly  with  Blanche,  to  whom  a  frontier  settlement  was 
a  novelty,  and  who  found  interesting  companionship  in 
Mrs.  Kate  and  her  two  children. 

The  morning  duties  of  the  camp  were  soon  done,  and 
John  had  leisure  to  devote  to  his  fair  passenger.  He  was 
loath  to  intrude  himself,  but  the  affair  of  the  catamount  had 
broken  the  ice  of  reserve,  and  Blanche  was  well  disposed  to 
be  friendly.  The  lady  having  expressed  a  wrish  to  take  a 
jaunt  into  the  forest,  John  summoned  Featherfoot,  and  the 
trio  started  across  the  wooded  bottom  to  the  hills  beyond. 
The  day  was  bright,  and  the  animated  life  of  the  forest  all 
agog.  Squirrels  in  great  number  leaped  among  the  trees, 
and  quails  piped  their  shrill  whistle  from  the  underbrush. 
Woodcock  ever  and  anon  darted  across  the  pathway,  show 
ing  for  the  nonce  their  reddish-brown  colors,  and  disappear 
ing  in  the  chaparral.  The  wild  turkeys  sounded  their  roll 
ing  bass,  and  at  least  one  fine  gobbler  showed  his  dark, 
glossy  metallic  feathers,  as  he  dodged  his  wattled  head  and 
hurried  out  of  sight.  The  rapid  tap-tap  of  woodpeckers 
sounded  through  the  silent  woods,  and  now  and  then  one 
was  seen  perched  upon  a  decaying  trunk  or  an  old  stump, 
bobbing  its  fine  red  head  and  apparently  taking  no  heed  f 
the  obtruding  strangers.  Mocking-birds  wrhistled  in  the 
low  brush  along  the  shore;  and  meadow-larks,  whose  sweet 
notes  may  be  heard  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  shore, 


108  THE   LATIMEKS. 

sang  one  to  another  in  the  little  patches  of  mead  on  the 
river  side. 

Blanche  at  last  grew  weary,  and  John  found  a  charming 
forest  sofa  upon  a  fallen  log  which  was  covered  with  green 
moss  and  gray  lichens,  and  gave  a  softly  cushioned  seat. 
There  he  sat  by  her  side,  and  while  the  dog  curled  him 
self  at  Blanche's  feet,  and  Featherfoot  on  a  mossy  boulder 
hard  by  wrought  at  quilling  a  moccasin,  they  talked  of  life 
in  the  woods  and  forest  experiences  until  the  near  approach 
of  noon  admonished  them  to  return  to  camp.  The  recol 
lection  of  that  forest  jaunt  and  the  bright  chat  in  that 
woodland  boudoir  and  on  the  way  to  and  from  it,  long 
remained  with  both  maid  and  man  as  one  of  the  most  de 
lightful  treasures  of  memory. 

The  noon  meal  ended,  a  long  afternoon  lay  before  the 
campers  in  Mingo  Bottom.  The  air  was  still  and  the 
August  sun  glowed  hot  upon  the  shining  river.  There  was 
scarcely  a  movement  among  the  leaves  in  the  tall  syca 
mores,  oaks  and  beeches  overhead,  and  their  far-spreading 
limbs  cast  a  grateful  shade.  Underneath  one  of  these  forest 
monarchs  John  spread  a  wide  mat  of  skins  and  there 
ensconced  Blanche,  and  warned  Featherfoot  to  bide  with 
her  lest  she  should  be  frightened  in  the  lonely  woods.  The 
maiden  yielded  to  the  lazy  influence  of  the  summer  day 
and  open  air,  and  after  fighting  awhile  with  prying  ants 
and  other  insects,  covered  her  face  with  a  kerchief  and 
gradually  dozed  off  into  a  sound  nap. 

Presently  she  awoke,  and  as  time  began  to  drag  heavily, 
was  pleased  to  welcome  John  to  her  forest  bower.  He, 
intent  upon  duties  of  hospitality,  brought  his  violin,  and 
an  hour  merrily  passed  with  the  music.  Blanche  aided 
with  songs;  and  won  by  the  cheery  scene,  Andy  came  with 
Bounce  and  presently  set  the  latter  to  dancing  to  the  fiddle. 
At  last  growing  tired  of  this,  John  proposed  that  Andy 
should  spin  a  yarn;  and  knowing  well  his  best  points  in  that 
line,  urged  that  he  give  them  an  account  of  his  own  court 
ship. 

"He  has  given  me  several  tempting  bits,"  he  remarked, 
turning  to  Miss  Blanche,  "and  has  promised  some  time  to 
give  me  all.  I'm  sure  we  shall  enjoy  it,  for  Fve  heard 
mother  say  that  she'd  go  a  day's  journey  any  time  to  hear 
Andy  Burbeck  tell  his  story  of  'Settin'  up  with  Elder 
McKeag's  Peggy/  " 


THE    LATIMERS.  109 

Blanche  added  her  entreaties  to  John's,  and  at  last 
Andy  consented.  The  party  settled  themselves  in  lounging 
attitudes  upon  the  grass  and  rugs,  and  Andy  taking  seat 
upon  a  mossy  rock,  bade  Bounce  lie  down  at  his  feet,  and 
after  a  few  preliminary  explanations,  began  his  love  tale. 
It  would  be  a  shame  not  to  preserve  as  much  as  may  be  of 
his  rich  Scotch-Irish  dialect,  if  it  were  only  for  the  sake  of 
the  vocabulary.  But  if  the  reader  will  Dardon  the  liberty, 
we  will  leave  his  own  imagination  to  supply  the  rolling  burr 
which  commonly  gave  such  peculiar  unction  to  Andy's 
speech.* 

SETTIN'  UP  WITH  ELDER  MCKEAG'S  PEGGY. 

"Whar  ye  gawin',  Andy?"  siz  mother,  who  sat  on  the 
hearth  a-peelin'  apples. 

"Why,  mommer,"  siz  I,  "I'm  a-thinkin'  of  settin'  up 
with  Peggy  McKe'g  the  night." 

"Ah,  sonny/'  siz  she,  "A'  misdoubt  ye've  a  pore  chanct 
with  yon  gial." 

"Wull,  mom,"  siz  I,  "All  A'  crave's  a  fair  field  an'  no 
favor.  Annyhow  A'll  try,  for  you  know  bravely  ^that  Peggy 
McK'ag's  the  likeliest  lass  in  all  the  settlement!" 

"Ay,  Andy,  Peggy's  a  rare  well-favored  lass,  A'll  allow," 
siz  she.  "But  she's  been  contrairy  with  ye  this  tweP- 
month,  an'  don't  seem  to  care  a  farden  for  you.  She's  no 
better  nor  you,  for  all  her  puttin'  on  airs.  An  A'  wair  in 
your  place  A'  wouldn't  go  the  len'th  o'  the  doour  for  to 
pleasure  her." 

"What,  mommer,"  siz  I,  "don't  you  think  she  cares  jist 
a  weeny  bit  for  me?" 

"Shame  a  haet!"  siz  she;  "though  Ah'm  sore  pained  for 
til  say't  on  your  account,  honey.  But  A'm  feared  it's  all  no 
good.  Ye've  been  sure  of  her  nigh  a  dozen  times,  off  an' 
on;  but  she's  like  the  Irishman's  flea,  when  ye  put  your 
finger  on  her  she  isn't  there.  Give  her  clane  up  at  wane! , 
Andy.  Letabee  for  letabee,  siz  I,  an'  there's  as  good  fish 
in  the  say  as  iver  was  caught.  A'  misdoubt  Peggy's  tuck 
up  with  that  poky  numskull,  Bill  Mackinzie." 


*  It  may  be  allowed  the  author  to  take  the  reader  into  his  con 
fidence  and  inform  him  that  the  chief  purpose  of  Andy's  story  is 
to  assemble  in  a  brief  compass  a  large  number  of  the  current 
folk  words  and  phrases  of  the  Scotch-Irish  speech  at  that  period. 


HO  THE    LATIMERS. 

"Well,  mom/'  siz  I,  "A'll  take  ma  chanct  along  o'  him, 
and  deil  take  the  hin'most.  Faint  heart  ne'er  won  fair  lady, 
you  know,  so  here  goes!  Mebbe  after  all  A'll  make  the 
riffle.  Who  knows?" 

Thereupon  havin'  done  the  chores,  an'  tanded  to  the 
critters,  an'  righted  things  around  the  barn,  A'  got  on  ma 
Sunday  duds,  trigged  up  a  bit,  slicked  ma  hair  with  the 
reddin'  comb,  an'  about  sundown  started  acrost  the  clairin' 
to  Elder  McK'ag's  cabin. 

As  A'  drawed  nigh  the  house  who  should  A'  see  but  Bill 
Mackinzie  comin'  cat-a-corner  acrost  the  fields  jist  fornanst 
me.  He  was  dressed  up  to  the  nine's,  an'  fine  he  knowed 
it.  "Dawgon  him!"  thinks  I,  "the  jig's  up  for  this  time. 
A'll  have  no  chanct  the  night  fer  to  git  a  word  in  aidgewise 
with  Peggy."  Howiver,  A7  hurried  up  to  the  picket  gate 
peart  as  you  pFase,  but  feelin'  mighty  jubous,  for  all  that. 

"How  air  you?"  siz  I,  chipper  enough,  for  A'  minded 
the  sayin'  that  .it's  alluz  good  to  be  ceevil,  as  the  old  woman 
said  when  she  curtsied  to  the  divil.  But  in  meh  heart  A' 
was  a-thinkin'  how  kin  A'  git  shut  of  that  long-legged 
codger' — an'  marvelin'  if  A'  wouldn't  hev  to  knock  the 
hindsights  offn  him  afore  A'  was  done  with  it. 

"Lollyguin!"  siz  Bill,  startin'  back,  "you  baint  hyur 
agin,  Andy  Burbeck?" 

"Wull,  mester  sassbox,"  siz  I,  feelin'  my  dander  risin', 
"whar  am  A'  then,  ef  A'  haint  hyur?  Belike,  A've  got  a 
better  right  nor  you  to  be  hyur.  Annyhow,  ef  my  prisence 
mislikes  you,  you  haint  no  call  to  go  furder,  an'  kin  jist  take 
the  back  trail!" 

"Hold  your  gab!"  siz  he,  "you  beeta  hadn't  gimme  aniry 
of  your  impidence  or  I'll — " 

"What'll  ye  do?"  siz  I,  takin'  a  step  for'ad  an'  comin' 
clost  til  him,  for  A'  was  gittin'  powerful  het  up,  you  sec. 
"Tech  me  if  you  dar!"  says  I.  "You'll  have  your  wark  cut 
out  for  you,  my  brave  laddie.  You  dassent  do't,  bad  cess  to 
you!  You  dassent  lay  the  heft  o'  your  finger  on  me! 
Somebody'll  git  hurted  ef — " 

Jist  then  the  cabin  door  opened  and  Elder  McK'ag 
stepped  out.  Both  on  us  wilted  at  wanct,  an'  turned  tor'd 
him  sorta  sheepish  like. 

"What's  all  this  rumtion,  lads?"  siz  he,  a-lookin'  at  us 
with  a  quizzical  cast  to  his  eye.  "Come  in!  you  beeta  come 
\ntil  the  house,  an'  stop  your  carryin'-on  out  thar," 


THE   LATIMERS.  Ill 

"Good  aven,  Elder/'  siz  Bill,  kindeh  dazed  like.  An' 
"Good  avenin'  til  ye,  Elder/'  siz  I,  quite  put  out  an'  all  in  a 
swither,  an'  hardly  knowin  what  1  sayed.  uWe  wair  jist 
a-comin'  in,  but  stopped  a  minute  to  pass  the  time  o'  day." 

A'  knowed  he  opined  purty  clairly  what  wras  agoin'  on 
atween  us;  tho',  when  he  h'ard  what  A'  telled  him  he  niver 
let  on.  But  A'  suspicioned  he  was  a-chucklin'  inside,  an' 
inayhap  wusht  we'd  gone  off  a  bit  furder  an'  smashed  other 
to  smithereens.  Eor  the  Elder  was  a  widder  man,  an'  had 
nary  childer  nor  Peggy,  an'  he  didn't  care  much  to  have 
anny  bucks  a-takin'  a  shine  to  her. 

He  stood  a-lookin'  at  us  awhile  with  his  thumbs  hitched 
intil  his  galluses,  and  then  sayed:  "Ay,  ay,  lads!  Alrli 
uphold  ye  for  that.  But  it  sounded  rayther  rambunctious- 
like,  for  passin'  the  time  o'  day.  It  was  a  heap  o'  cacklin' 
for  so  small  an  aigg.  Howsomiver,  walk  in  an'  tak'  a  sate." 

In  A'  marched,  an'  Bill  a-follerin';  but  his  legs  were  so 
long  that  he  had  to  jouk  his  red  head  as  he  went  inunder 
the  door  jamb.  The  table  was  set  for  supper  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  an'  a  taller  dip  was  a  burnin'  on't.  A  big 
backlog  was  in  the  wide  chimbley  with  the  flames  eatin'  a 
right  smart  chunk  out'n  the  heart.  The  crane  swung 
in'ard  with  the  kittle  a-sizzin'  an'  a-stamein';  an'  a  spider 
full  o'  bacon  a-brilein'  on  the  hot  coals,  an'  a  pile  o'  flannel 
cakes  on  a  plate  jist  ready  to  be  sarved. 

But  hokey-pokey!  all  that  was  nought  to  Peggy,  who 
stood  thar  anent  the  h'arth!  She  had  on  a  smart  red  an' 
black  plaid  flannel  gownd,  span  new,  an'  a  white  apern,  an' 
a  linen  hankercher  folded  acrost  her  buzzum,  an'  beaded 
moccasins  on  her  nate  little  fut.  Her  cheeks  were  like 
peach  blooms  in  the  springtime,  an'  her  sleeves  rolled  up 
above  the  elbows,  a-showin'  her  well-turned  arms. 

My  fathers!  wairent  she  the  verra  pink  o'  parfection! 
Mother  allus  wanted  me  tuh  kape  company  wi'  Sal  Martin, 
becaze,  she  sayed,  she's  better  nor  she'  bonny.  But  gimme 
Peggy  McK'ag,  siz  I,  for  she's  both  better  an'  bonny.  Sal 
Martin's  not  a  patchin'  til  her!  An'  thar  she  stood  as  purty 
as  a  picter,  a-grinnin'  an'  a-kackelin'  at  us  uns,  as  we 
traipsed  in  after  her  dad,  Indian  file. 

Now,  A'd  alluz  been  the  bashfulest  an'  awkerdest  kind 
of  a  gawk  when  A'  wint  for  to  see  the  gials,  an'  A'  sus 
picioned  that  was  why  Peggy  didn't  set  so  much  store  by 
me.  But  seein'  her  thar  so  all-fired  han'some,  an'  thinkin' 


112  THE   LATIMERS. 

of  me  a-losin'  of  her  all  along  o'  Bill  Mackenzie,  riled  me 
so's  A'  didn't  keer  a  bawbee  what  A'  sayed.  A'  felt  like  all 
possessed  the  whole  night,  from  A'  come  intil  the  door  till 
A'  left  the  cabin.  So  A'  yorked  off  my  coonskin  cap,  an' 
makes  my  best  obe^  'eience,  an'  bid  Peggy  good  avenin', 
an'  wusht  her  good  health.  "Though,"  siz  1,  "th's  no  need- 
cessity  for  that,  for  ye're  the  picter  of  rosy  health,  an'  pur- 
tier  nor  a  posey." 

She  wasn't  uset  til  sich  compliments  from  me  (no  more 
was  A'  myself,  for  that  matter!),  an'  sort  o'  started,  an' 
blushed,  an'  looked  quare,  an'  belike  a  bit  miffed,  to  boot. 
But  hit  or  miss,  siz  I  to  myself,  it's  now  or  niver!  So  A' 
spakes  right  up  agin. 

"Peggy,  my  dear,  mother  bid  me  fer  til  tell  you  that 
she's  got  that  recait  from  the  meenister's  wife  for  makin' 
a  black  dye  out'n  new  mown  hay.  An'  ef  ye'll  jist  come 
over  the  morrow,  she'll  show  you  how  to  mix  it  for  dyein' 
the  Elder's  Sunday  breeches,  as  you  was  inquirin'  about." 

"A'm  sure  A'm  much  obleeged  til  her,"  siz  Peggy,  with 
a  bit  blush  a-tippin'  her  two  cheeks.  "An?  til  you  tco, 
Andy,"  says  she,  "for  a-tellin'  of  me.  But  hav  ye  had  sup 
per  yit?" 

"Not  a  haet,"  siz  I;  "an'  ef  it  wont  put  ye  out  too  much 
ye  may  plaze  put  ma  name  in  the  pot." 

"Sartan,"  siz  she,  "an'  hearty  welcome  A'm  sure,  ef  ye'll 
take  pot  luck  wi'  us.  Good  avenin'  til  ye,  Mester  Mac- 
kinzie,"  siz  she,  a-turnin'  to  Bill  an'  droppin'  a  curtsey  as 
genteel  as  rale  quality.  "Won't  ye  take  a  cheer  an'  have  a 
bite  an'  sup?" 

"That  A'  wull,  an'  thankee  kindly,"  siz  Bill;  an'  takin' 
up  a  stool  he  toted  it  acrost  the  room  an'  sat  down  aside 
Peggy,  as  brash  as  a  town  beau.  But. what  manners  could 
you  axpec'  (thinks  I)  from  sech  a  lunk  as  that  Bill?  You 
can't  make  a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear,  no  how;  an'  it's 
hard  gittin'  breeks  off  a  Highlander.  All  the  same,  how- 
iver,  A'  noted  that  Peggy  hadn't  ast  me  to  take  a  sate,  an' 
A'  was  gittin'  to  feel  a  lettle  huffy  about  it,  when  the  Elder, 
seein'  Peggy  had  sarved  the  supper,  sayed:  "Come,  ladj, 
have  a  snack!  Jist  set  right  down  an'  fall  to." 

Now,  bein'  s'ated,  and  Peggy  behint  a  st'amin'  pot  o' 
sassafras  tay,  with  crame  an'  maple  sugar  on  one  side,  an' 
a  crock  o'  bubblin'  mush  an'  the  milk  piggin  on  t'other, 
the  Elder  turns  to  me  an'  says:  "Andy,  wull  ye  do  the 
biddin'?" 


THE   LATIMERS.  113 

"Axcuse  me,  Mr.  McK'ag,"  siz  I,  "it  ud  ill  become  sich 
as  me  to  ast  a  blessin'  in  the  prisence  of  an  Elder  of  the 
Church.  Axcuse  me,  plaze!" 

Elder  MeK'ag  looked  askant  at  me,  as  though  ruther 
juberous  how  to  take  what  A'  sayed,  then  turned  to  Bill, 
who  sat  foment  me.  "Mester  Mackinzie,"  siz  he,  "wull  ye 
do  the  biddin',  then?" 

Now  Bill  was  a  perfesser,  though  a  powerful  weak  un, 
leastways  in  spots;  an'  A'  reckon  he  tho't  he'd  a  chanct  to 
cotton  to  the  Elder  an'  git  on  his  good  side  an'  show  off 
agin  me.  So  he  jouked  his  noddle  an'  shet  his  eyes,  an' 
began: 

"For  what  we  are  about  to  racave,"  siz  he,  startin'  off 
as  peart  as  a  parson.  But  then,  seein'  he'd  got  onto  the 
wrong  trail  an'  started  the  'Piscopal  grace,  which  he 
knowed  'ud  rile  the  Elder  powerful,  he  balked  an'  stuttered, 
an'  got  red  as  a  gum  tree  after  frost.  Then  hopin'  he'd 
make  out  nex'  time,  he  struck  in  agin:  "Now — I — lay  me 

0  good  land!"  siz  he,  breakin'  off  short,  clane  upset 

an'  all  thro'  other. 

Peggy  snickered  right  out,  but  A'  helt  in  sober  as  a 
jedge,  more  by  good  luck  nor  good  guidin'.  Ther'  was  an 
awful  pause.  Peggy  got  redder'n  a  beet,  an'  then  whiter'n 
a  lily  (Good  bless  her  dear  heart!)  an'  looked  up  scaret  like 
intil  her  father's  face.  But  the  old  man  niver  let  on,  an' 
sayed  nary  a  word  savin'  only  "Humph!"  an'  pickin'  up 
knife  an'  fork  began  to  sarve  the  bacon. 

Wull,  A'  didn't  envey  Bill  that  releegious  axercise! 
Nor  A'  didn't  pity  him  nuther.  You'll  sing  small  now,  my 
larkie,  thinks  I,  an'  was  fairly  bustin'  for  a  good  guffaw, 
but  dastent  do't  lest  the  Elder  'd'  come  down  on  me  like 
a  thousand  o'  brick.  Besides,  A'  seed  that  Peggy,  bein' 
kind  o'  sorry  for  Bill,  an'  thinkin'  she  had  hurted  his 
feelin's,  was  castin'  about  fer  til  smooth  things  over  a  bit, 
an'  was  mighty  perlite  til  'im,  an'  jist  sort  o'  gi'me  the  go-by 
for  the  rest  o'  the  male. 

"Oh,  yes,"  thinks  I.  "You're  keerless  enough  o'  my 
feelin's,  but  thunderin'  pertickler  about  hissen?" 

Supper  over,  "Come,  Peggy,"  says  the  Elder  solemnly, 
Le's  have  warship  now."  But  A'  noticed  that  he  didn't  ax 
Bill  to  take  the  Buk.  So  Peggy  brought  the  Bible  an'  set 
it  down  afore  her  father,  an'  shoved  the  taller  dip  alongside 
him.  But  A'  couldn't  listen  much,  nor  pray  nuther,  as  far 
8 


114  THE   LATIMERS. 

as  that  goes,  for  thinkin'  that  the  plaguey  gial  had  sot  down 
clost  to  Bill,  an'  for  watchin'  him  a-castin'  sheep's  eyes  at 
her,  whiles,  through  all  the  readin'. 

"Bonny  perfessor  that!"  thinks  I,  "a-sparkin'  at  sich  a 
time!" 

Warship  done,  the  Elder  lit  his  pipe  an'  sot  down  in  a 
corner  of  the  chimbley-place  to  smoke.  Then  what  does 
i^eggy  do  but  hurry  up  with  the  best  cheer  an'  set  it  down 
right  by  her  dad,  an'  ast  Bill  to  tak'  a  sate !  He  was  tickled 
to  death  at  that  to  be  sure,  an'  sot  down  as  large  as  a  lord 
an'  began  a  long  crack  wi'  the  Elder. 

Seein'  how  things  was  a-gawin,  my  heart  sunk  most  intil 
my  boots;  but  gittin'  despert  agin,  A'  shuk  off  the  doldrums 
an'  spunked  up  to  Peggy  an'  says: 

"Wull,  Peggy,  seein'  there's  nought  else  for  me  to  do, 
A'  reckon  A'  beeta  turn  to  an'  help  you  redd  off  the  table. 
Men  folks  is  no  shucks  at  tidyin'  up  things,  an'  too  many 
cooks  spoil  the  broth,"  siz  I,  lookin'  hard  an'  glum  at  Bill. 
"But  willin'  heart  makes  light  work,  an'  A'll  make  out  for 
lack  o'  better;  so  here  goes,  Peggy,  ma  dear." 

With  that  A'  nabbed  a  han'ful  of  plates  an'  toted  ?em 
intil  the  little  leanto  whar  Peggy  kep'  an'  washed  her 
chainey  things.  Land  o'  Liberty!  All  unbeknownst  A'd 
fallen  onto  a  streak  o'  good  luck!  Thar  A'  was  in  that 
cuddy  all  meh  lone  with  Peggy,  peekin'  out  of  the  lettle 
door  at  Bill  an'  the  Elder  argifyin'  hot  an'  heavy  on  the 
Stamp  Act  an'  the  Sons  of  Liberty,  an'  havin'  sich 
interteenin'  discoorse  that  they  gave  nayther  heed  nor  hap 
to  Peggy  an' me.  That  was  my  las' chanct !  Now  or  niver, 
thinks  I!  Go  in,  Andy,  an'  make  a  spoon  or  spile  a  horn! 

My  heart  was  a-poundin'  like  a  churn  dasher  as  A'  stood 
thar  a-watchin'  Peggy  swash  about  the  plates  in  the  smokin' 
hot  water,  an'  lookin'  sweeter  nor  a  sprig  posey. 

"Peggy,"  siz  I  at  last,  leanin'  over  clost  to  her  an' 
sp'akin'  low;  "Peggy,  A'  can't  stand  this  anny  longer.  A' 
love  you  more'n  all  creation,  an — " 

"No,  no!  that  won't  do!"  sings  out  the  Elder,  so  loud 
an'  pat  that  we  both  started  an'  turned  tor'd  the  door, 
a-thinkin'  he  was  sp'akin'  til  us  uns.  But  thank  stars!  he 
was  a-settin'  thar  cool  as  a  cowcumber,  lookin'  intil  the  fire 
an'  argifyin'  with  Bill,  an'  it  was  him  he  was  hollerin'  at, 
not  me.  A'  don't  know,  an'  niver  shall,  A'  axpec',  what  pos 
sessed  me  to  do  it,  but  as  Peggy  turned  back  her  face  from 


THE    LATIMERS.  115 

the  door  A'  jist  up  and  kissed  her  cheek.  A'  couldn't  a' 
helped  it  ef  old  Sattan  hisself  had  'a  bean  thar  to  hender. 

Jiminy!  A'  felt  that  buss  clane  down  til  my  toes.  But, 
sakes  alive !  thinks  I,  what  hev  A'  done  ?  A've  spilt  the  fat 
intil  the  fire  this  time,  sartain!  Now  A'll  git  my  walkin' 
papers,  sure  as  shootin'! 

"Goodness-gracious-me,  Andy  Burbeck!"  siz  Peggy, 
droppin'  her  plate  intil  the  pan.  "How  dar  ye  do  that?" 

"Peggy,"  siz  I,  still  kindeh  possessed  an'  thinkin'  A' 
might  as  wull  die  for  an'  old  sheep  as  a  lamb,  "Peggy,"  siz 
T,  "bein'  as  you  wush  it,  A'll  jist  show  you  how  A'  dast  to 
do  it."  An'  A'  up  an'  kissed  her  agin! 

What  did  she  do?  She  didn't  do  nought!  But  blushed, 
kn'  hung  her  purty  face,  an'  sayed  "Andy"  as  low  an'  as 
swaet  as  a  cooin'  cushat,  an'  looked  down  intil  the  pan,  an' 
went  on  quietly  washin'  the  dishes! 

"Peggy,  my  darlin'!"  siz  I,  most  wild  with  hope,  but 
feared  lest  A'  might  blunder,  an'  nip  the  rose  in  the  bud; 
"Peggy,  you  do  love  me,  A'  belave.  Tell  me  that  you  do, 
Peggy,  my  love,  an'  A'm  the  proudest  an'  happiest  man  in 
the  Wistern  Survey." 

She  looked  up  askant,  an'  sayed:  "Hoosh,  Andy;  don't 
spake  so  loud,  plaze.  Bill  '11  overhear  us,  an'  then— 

"Drat  Bill!"  siz  I;  "spake  out,  sweetheart,  an'  tell  me 
the  good  news  wi'  your  own  swate  lips.  Do  you  love  me, 

Peggy?" 

"Wull — Andy,"  siz  she,  slow  an'  solemn,  but  tinder  an' 
arnest  like,  "A' — allow — that — A' — do!"  An'  she  pursed 
up  her  red  lips  jist  a  lilly-bit,  an' — wull,  A'  rayther  reckon 
A'  didn't  neglec'  that  Providential  oppcrtoonity! 

"Ah,  Peggy,"  siz  I,  lookin'  over  at  Bill,  who  was  six 
good  inches  taller  nor  me,  an'  A'm  no  runty,  nayther,  "it 
aint  alluz  the  longest  pole  'at  knocks  the  persimmons,  is  it, 
darlin'?  But  what  possessed  you  to  favor  Bill  so  an'  slight 
me,  the  night  ?  Whan  ye  went^an'  sot  beside  him  at  warship, 
an'  than  give  him  the  best  cheer  beside  your  dad,  A'  tho't 
it  was  all  up  with  me." 

"Tut,  tut!  Andy,"  siz  she,  "what  'ud  'a  happened  ef  A'd 
'a  sot  you  thar?  But  belike  you'd  wush  to  swap  places 
now?"  siz  she,  lookin'  up  slyly. 

"You  lettle  witch!"  siz  I,  givin'  her  another  kiss.  "A' 
niver  dremt  ye  was  sich  a  sly  puss."  A'  don't  know  axac'ly 
how  long  them  dishes  was  a-washin';  for  A'd  wiped  'em,  ye 


116  THE   LATIMERS. 

see,  an'  A'  niver  was  extry  brisk  at  that  sort  o'  business. 
.But  whan  they  was  done  A'  says:  "An'  now  A've  got  what 
A'  come  for,,  A'll  e'en  be  goin  home  fer  til  tell  the  good 
news  to  mother.  A'  kin  trust  ye  with  Bill  for  wan  night,, 
darlin',  an'  he  won't  be  here,  A'  allow,  whan  A'  come  to  set 
up  wi'  ye  the  morrow.  An  we's  '11  hev  a  jollier  time  then, 
Peggy,  my  love,  for  ye  see  two's  company,  but  three's  a 
crowd." 

"Wull,  Andy,"  siz  she,  "A'  suppose  you  beeta  be  goin'; 
though  dearie  me!  it's  a  sore  night  A'll  hev  on't,  A'll  be 
bound!  But  thank  goodness!  A'll  soon  be  redd  of  that  poky 
blatherskite,  Bill.  But  Andy,  darlin',  do  ye  love  me  truly?" 
siz  she,  lookin'  tanderan'  longin'  like  intil  ma  face. 

"Deed  an'  double,  A'  do!"  siz  I.  "A'll  crost  ma  breast 
to  that  anny  day,  ma  dear.  An'  ef  the  Goodman  spares  us, 
an'  your  dad  is  agrayable,  we's  '11  be  wedded  sure  an'  sartin, 
Peggy,"  siz  I. 

"Wull,  Andy,"  siz  she,  "won't  you  win  the  clock  for  me 
afore  you  go?  She  alluz  runs  down  of  a  Saturday  night." 
Now,  the  old  Dutch  clock  stood  in  the  ind  of  the  settin' 
room  foment  the  fireplace,  an'  as  Bill  an'  the  Elder  had 
their  backs  tor'ds  us,  A'  jist  tuk  a  kiss  for  toil  atween  each 
weight  as  A'  wun  'em  up,  an'  an  extra  kiss  for  the  fmishin'. 

Bad  cess  til  him!  Jist  then  that  pesky  Bill  turned 
roun'  an'  caught  us  at  it!  My  crackies!  how  he  stared,  an' 
glowered,  an'  dropped  his  chops  till  his  mouth  looked  like 
a  suller  door.  Peggy  blushed  redder'n  a  rose,  but  she  niver 
flunked,  but  jist  r'ached  up  an'  gi'  me  a  quiet  kiss  an'  whis 
pered  "Good-night,  darlin',  an'  don't  you  forgit  me.  Let 
Bill  glower!  We  hae'nt  no  cause  to  be  ashamed,  an'  A' 
don't  keer  a  buckie  for  him." 

So  A'  came  forad  an'  shuck  han's  wi'  Elder  McK'ag, 
an'  bid  him  good-night.  An'  feeliii'  so  tiptop,  an'  not 
wushin'  to  be  out  with  Bill,  A'  tho't  A'd  e'en  make  up  with 
him,  seein'  A'  was  all  right  with  Peggy.  So  A'  says,  "Good 
night  til  ye,  Bill!"  an'  helt  out  my  han'. 

"My  name  haent  Bill!"  says  he.  "Leastways  not  to 
you,"  siz  he,  grumpy  as  a  bear  an'  makin'  no  sign. 

A'  felt  like  fetchin'  him  a  side-wipe  for  his  ill  manners, 
an'  he  desarved  a  cloutin'  too.  But,  laws-ee!  wrho'd  look 
for  manners  in  gawky  Bill?  As  lief  go  to  the  divil  for  a 
dishclout.  An'  what's  the  use  o'  quarrelin'  with  sich  as 
him,  thinks  I.  Fight  a  skunk  an'  git  a  bad  smell!  Besides, 


THE    LATIMERS.  117 

he's  sore  enough  fretted  already,  an'  they's  no  use  a-pourin' 
water  on  a  drownded  rat.  He'll  be  warse  afore  he's  better, 
A'  lay  a  pretty  penny.  So  A'  spoke  out: 

UA11  right,  then,  jist  as  you  plaze.  Good  night, 
WulFem — Mester  Wull'em  Schomberg  Mackinzie!"  siz  1, 
an'  left  the  cabin. 

Mother  seein'  me  a-comin'  home  so  soon,  looked  up 
from  her  knittin'  an'  shuck  her  head,  thinkin'  all  had  gone 
ajee. 

"Wull,  sonny,"  siz  she,  "Bill  run  ye  out,  did  he?" 

"Leastways,"  siz  I,  puttin'  on  a  solemn  face,  "A'  left 
him  a-settin'  up  with  Peggy  an'  the  Elder." 

"Ay,  honey,  A'  telled  ye  so!"  siz  she.  "It's  jist  as  A' 
opined.  But  ye  would  threap  me  down,  an' — " 

"Hold  on,  mommer,"  siz  I,  goin'  up  an'  kissin'  her. 
"Ye're  barkin'  up  the  wrong  tree  this  time.  Peggy's  all 
right,  an'  A'm  all  right,  an'  Bill  Mackinzie's  badly  sacked. 
That's  the  long  an'  short  of  it,  an'  A'm  chuck  full  an'  run  - 
nin'  over." 

A'  couldn't  hold  in  no  longer,  an'  jist  swung  loose,  an' 
danced  a  jig  around  the  cabin,  whustlin'  the  while  "Haste 
to  the  Weddin' "  an'  "Boy's  Wife  of  Aldevalock!"  An'  dear 
old  mother!  she  was  daft  as  m'self,  an'  fust  cried  an'  than 
laughed,  an'  beat  time  with  her  fut  an'  knittin'  needles,  an' 
lilted  away  in  tune  with  my  whustlin'  as  merry  as  a  milkin' 
maid. 

"A'  don't  understan'  it,  Andy,"  siz  she,  at  last.  "Bill's 
folk  all  bragged  that  Peggy  an'  him  war  to  be  wedded,  an' 
they  seemed  so  sartain  an'  sot  up  about  it." 

"It's  lettle  differ  what  Bill's  folks  say,  mommer,"  siz  I. 
"They've  missed  it  this  time,  an'  a  miss  is  as  good  as  a 
mile.  It's  best  not  to  praise  a  fair  day  afore  avenin'," 
siz  I. 

"True  enough,  honey,"  siz  she.  "But  Bill  is  so  well  to 
do,  you  know,  an'  the  Elder  is  a  canny  soul,  for  all  his  piety; 
an'  the  neighbors  telled  me  that  Bill  allowed  he  was  plumb 
sure  of  Peggy." 

"Xothin'  but  talk,  mother,"  siz  I.  "All  cry  an'  no  wool, 
as  the  shoemaker  said  when  he  shore  the  pig.  Jlanny  a  slip 
'twixt  cup  an'  lip;  an'  Bill's  out  on  Peggy,  though  he  may 
coort  her  dad,  an'  welcome,  for  all  me.  Peggy's  mine, 
mother,  A'  tell  ye,  Peggy's  mine!  An'  A'm  the  happiest 
lad,  as  she's  the  bonniest  lass  in  all  the  landP 


118  THE   LATIMERS. 

The  hearty  laughter  and  applause  that  greeted  Andy's 
story  of  his  courtship  would  have  satisfied  the  most  exact 
ing  raconteur.  Blanche  was  delighted  with  the  racy  Doric 
of  Andy's  colloquial,  and  with  the  spicy  proverbs,,  and 
glimpses  into  pioneer  life.  Bounce,  who  seemed  to  know 
instinctively  where  the  good  points  came  in,  added  his 
joyous  yelpings  to  the  human  demonstrations  of  favor. 

Now  the  shadows  began  to  deepen  in  the  forest,  and 
Andy  commenced  his  culinary  duties,  a  pleasant  service 
always  in  open  camp,  and  one  which  has  strong  fascinations 
for  observers.  Blanche,  at  least,  so  found  it.  It  was  rare 
pleasure  to  see  the  camp-fire  crackle  and  shoot  up,  and  the 
blue  smoke  rise  in  a  straight  column  through  the  trees  and 
gradually  spread  out  above  their  tops,  floating  off  on  the 
gentle  zephyr  which  began  to  stir.  There  was  strange 
interest  and  even  beauty  in  such  homely  acts  as  filling  the 
camp  kettle  with  water  from  the  purling  rill  close  by,  and 
hanging  it  over  the  fire  upon  the  forked  stick  that  served 
for  a  crane.  Then  came  the  play  of  lights  and  shadows  in 
the  woods,  as  the  sunlight  slanted  in  from  the  west,  the 
gathering  of  the  rosy  glow  upon  the  shimmering  river  as  it 
ran  by,  and  the  various  sounds  of  wood  life  as  the  evening 
approached.  These  and  many  more  delightful  novelties 
won  the  pleased  admiration  of  the  Eastern  maid. 

Gen.  Neville  with  his  party  came  in  by  dusk,  well  satis 
fied  with  the  day's  hunting.  They  had  met  much  small 
game;  and  a  streak  of  good  fortune  which  greatly  pleased 
the  Inspector  was  the  killing  of  a  large  brown  bear,  whose 
skin  Hannibal  bore  along  with  him  that  it  might  be  pre 
served  as  a  trophy.  It  was  nailed  up  against  the  cabin  to 
stretch  and  dry,  where  already  the  skin  of  the  catamount 
had  been  fastened  that  it  might  be  in  good  shape  for 
Blanche  when  the  trip  was  ended. 


THE    LATIMERS.  119 

CHAPTER  XV. 

A  RIVER  SKIRMISH. 

The  next  day  our  party  bade  a  kindly  farewell  to  Fergus 
Kelly  and  his  family,  and  resumed  their  journey  down  the 
river.  The  twenty  miles  or  more  to  Wheeling  were  made  by 
one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  as  the  town  came  into 
sight  John  ventured  to  speak  to  Gen.  Neville  about  his 
plans.  Would  he  leave  the  boat  at  Wheeling?  And  would 
he  venture,  as  he  had  proposed,  to  go  up  into  the  village 
and  stop  at  the  tavern? 

Certainly,  that  was  the  General's  plan.  He  would  ask 
John  to  wait  with  the  boat  until  he  had  attended  to  certain 
matters  which  required  his  special  care.  He  would  take 
Blanche  with  him,  for  she  wished  to  see  the  settlement.  He 
hardly  thought  that  the  people  would  molest  him.  At  all 
events  he  was  an  officer  of  the  United  States  and  he  would 
not  permit  himself  to  be  driven  from  his  duty  and  his  rights 
by  the  threats  of  an  ignorant  mob. 

"They  may  be  ignorant,  sir,"  responded  John,  "but  they 
are  the  real  citizens  of  the  settlement,  and  are  honest  in 
the  opinion  that  they  are  right  in  this  matter  of  the  reve 
nue,  and  that  we  are  wrong.  That,  however,  is  neither  here 
nor  there,  it  seems  to  me.  Can  you  convince  them  of  their 
error  by  putting  yourself  in  their  power.  For  surely  you 
will  see  that  they  have  the  power."  He  pointed  to  a  crowd 
of  settlers  who  were  clustered  together  upon  the  ridge  above 
the  landing,  drinking  at  the  Indian  Spring,  or  standing  in 
knots  earnestly  conversing  as  they  watched  the  "Fanny's" 
slow  approach.  Then  he  added:  "What  can  you  do,  sir, 
against  such  a  company  as  that?" 

"What  can  /  do?"  exclaimed  the  General,  with  a  pecu 
liar  emphasis  upon  the  first  personal  pronoun.  "Do  you 
mean  to  intimate  that  you  will  leave  us  to  ourselves?  But 
I  see  how  it  is;  we  have  no  right  to  expect — " 

"Stop  sir!  You  have  no  right  to  expect  of  me  more 
than  I  promised.  While  you  are  on  this  boat  and  thus  in 
a  measure  under  my  care,  you  and  your  fair  ward  will  be 
protected  to  the  extent  of  my  power.  What  I  may  be  will 
ing  to  do  beyond  that,  I  do  not  say.  But,  sir,  can  you 


120  THE    LATIMERS. 

expect  me  to  be  more  careful  of  your  own  safety  and  that 
of  your  niece  than  you  yourself  are?  A  moment's  calm 
reflection  must  show  you  that  these  men  are  resolved  to 
seize  your  person  or  to  do  violence  of  some  sort;  and  the 
forces  at  our  command  will  not  hinder  them,  if  you  put 
yourself  in  their  power.  I  know  the  temper  of  these  men; 
some  of  them  are  desperate;  all  of  them  are  determined,  and 
they  are  ten  to  one  against  us." 

"Say  no  more!"  said  the  General.  "We  will  land.  Put 
the  boat  to  shore." 

''So  be  it,  then!"  said  John. 

With  a  heavy  heart,  and  cheeks  pale  with  excitement, 
he  steered  the  boat  towards  the  mouth  of  Wheeling  Creek, 
and  laid  it  alongside  the  landing,  just  below  old  Fort 
Henry.  The  crowd  on  the  crert  of  the  bank  watched  the 
proceeding  with  sullen  looks.  It  was  Saturday  afternoon, 
a  time  when  the  settlers  were  wont  to  come  in  from  their 
plantations  to  barter  the  products  of  their  traps  and  of  the 
chase,  and  buy  such  store  goods  as  they  required.  Most  of 
them  were  armed,  after  the  custom  of  the  times. 

John  bade  Andy  stand  by,  ready  to  push  off  at  any 
moment,  and  setting  his  own  pushing-pole  where  it  could 
be  readily  seized,  took  his  rifle,  stepped  on  land  and  quietly 
surveyed  the  scene,  anxiously  awaiting  the  issue.  Gen. 
Neville,  with  Blanche  on  his  arm,  walked  slowly  up  the 
landing,  Hannibal  following  carrying  the  lady's  wraps. 

'  "If  you  are  compelled  to  come  back  hastily,"  John  had 
said  in  a  quiet  voice  as  they  passed,  "you  will  find  us  wait 
ing  here  to  push  off  instantly." 

The  General  stiffly  bowed,  Blanche  shot  forth  from  be 
neath  her  hood  a  grateful  glance,  and  the  party  moved  up 
the  slope.  As  they  drew  near  the  crowd  and  looked  into 
their  sullen,  determined  faces,  an  armed  mob  standing  there 
silent  and  threatening,  the  General's  heart  began  to  fail 
him.  But  the  die  was  cast;  it  was  too  late  now  to  retreat; 
and  as  Thump  McKay,  who  had  apparently  assumed  the 
leadership,  stepped  forth  and  demanded  his  surrender,  he 
eaw  how  serious  a  mistake  he  had  made.  Releasing  Blanche's 
hand  from  his  arm,  he  committed  her  to  Hannibal,  whom 
he  ordered  to  go  quickly  back  to  the  boat,  and  then  drawing 
his  pistols  faced  the  crowd. 

"Gentlemen,"  Le  said,  "I  am  here  in  the  service  of  the 
United  States.  I  come  in  the  discharge  of  duty.  If  you 


THE   LATIMERS.  121 

interfere  with  me  you  do  it  at  your  peril,  for  you  invite 
the  heavy  hand  of  the  Government  against  yourselves.  I 
warn  you  to  desist,  and  call  on  all  good  citizens  to  aid  me. 
Make  way,  there!" 

The  only  movement  was  an  extension  of  the  flanks  of 
the  crowd,  until  the  General  was  almost  surrounded  by  a 
band  of  fifty  or  sixty  armed  men. 

"Gen.  Mville,"  said  McKay,  "that  is  all  bluff.  You 
know  bravely  you  kin  do  nothin'.  We've  made  up  our 
minds  that  we'll  have  none  of  your  axcise  spies  an'  officers 
here.  You've  got  men  to  dale  with  as  knows  the'r  rights 
an'  power.  You  may  order  your  nagurs  about,  but  your 
hectorin'  won't  pass  muster  with  us.  We  mane  no  bodily 
harm  til  the  lass,  an'  not  a  hair  of  her  head  shall  be  touched. 
But  we've  got  you  in  our  hands  an'  we  meanter  hold  ye 
ontil  we've  done  with  ye.  Jist  drop  them  shootin'  irons 
an'  surrender,  an'  we  pledge  ye  our  honor  that  no  bodily 
harm  shall  come  to  ye.  But,  ef  ye  pull  ary  trigger,  by  the 
Lord  Harry,  we'll  hang  ye  higher'n  Haman !" 

The  circle  of  determined  faces  closed  around  him,  and 
for  a  moment  the  old  soldier  stood  like  a  wild  beast  at  bay, 
almost  determined  to  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as  might  be, 
though  he  could  easily  see  the  hopelessness  of  his  position. 
The  deep  silence  was  broken  by  a  stir  on  the  outer  edge  of 
the  crowd.  An  authoritative  voice  exclaimed:  "Make 
way,  men;  make  way!  In  the  name  of  the  Democratic 
Association  of  Washington  County  I  command  you*  to 
desist!" 

Thus  speaking,  David  Bradford  elbowed  a  way  through 
the  crowd,  closely  followed  by  Luke  Latimer.  The  two  men 
had  just  dismounted  from  horses  that  stood  on  the  level  of 
the  ridge  above,  and  which  Panther  was  hastily  tying  to  a 
hitching  bar.  The  nags  were  wet  and  steaming  with  sweat, 
signs  of  hard  riding  over  rough  roads. 

At  Bradford's  command  the  crowd  made  way,  respecting 
the  voice  of  their  recognized  leader.  The  leader  of  the  in 
cipient  revolt  and  the  representative  of  the  Eepublic  now 
stood  face  to  face.  They  had  met  before  under  more  fav 
orable  circumstances,  for  Bradford's  occupation  as  a  lawyer 
had  brought  him  more  than  once  in  contact  with  the  In 
spector. 

"General,  this  is  no  time  for  ceremony,"  said  Bradford. 
"I  need  but  to  remind  an  old  soldier  that  when  a  battle's 


122  THE    LATIMERS. 

lost  there's  nothing  left  but  surrender  or  retreat.  It  is  idle 
just  now  to  press  the  question  whether  you  are  right  or 
wrong.  Whatever  we  think  of  you  personally  and  of  your 
actions  here  in  the  West  in  the  matter  of  excise  duties — and 
you  know  our  opinion  pretty  well,  I  reckon — we  will  respect 
the  Government  which  you  represent.  Luke  Latimer  will 
escort  you  to  the  boat;  and" — lowering  his  voice  and  putting 
his  lips  close  to  the  General's  face, — "take  my  word,  sir, 
you  have  no  time  to  lose!  My  power  over  this  crowd  holds 
lightly.  Make  way  there,  men,  make  way!"  He  waved 
back  the  circle  on  the  side  towards  the  river,  and  the  ranks 
slowly  opened.  Ere  Neville  fully  realized  what  had  oc 
curred,  Luke  had  grasped  his  arm  and  hurried  him  down 
the  landing  slope. 

John,  who  had  fallen  back  to  the  boat  when  Blanche 
returned,  stood  with  pole  in  hand,  ready  to  push  off  from 
shore.  The  General  leaped  aboard,  followed  by  Luke.  John 
and  Andy  with  vigorous  shoves  sent  the  boat  well  out  into 
the  river,  and  then  seizing  the  sweeps  pulled  with  might 
and  main. 

"We  will  be  safer  from  stray  shots  under  the  lee  of  the 
island,"  said  John.  "Miss  Blanche,  please  go  into  the 
cabin.  And  General,  if  you  wont  go  in  with  her,  at  least 
keep  out  of  sight,  for  these  men  are  desperate  enough  to 
pick  you  off,  if  you  are  exposed  to  their  aim,  and  their  shoot 
ing  would  endanger  us  all."  The  Inspector  promptly  acted 
on  this  good  advice,  for  he  was  frontiersman  enough  to 
know  that  nothing  is  gained  by  useless  exposure  in  a  run 
ning  quarrel. 

Meanwhile,  the  escape  of  the  boat  acted  upon  the  mob 
like  a  spur  to  a  mettlesome  horse.  The  momentary  check 
which  Bradford's  authority  had  given  their  plans  was  swept 
away  as  they  saw  their  victim  escaping.  With  whoop  and 
halloo  they  made  a  rush  for  the  bank,  which  Bradford  tried 
(or  pretended)  to  stay,  but  without  avail.  Half  a  dozen 
skiffs  and  canoes  tied  at  the  landing  were  seized,  and  in  a 
few  moments  were  filled  with  excited  men  and  in  full  swing 
in  pursuit.  It  was  clear  to  John  that  the  keel  boat  ran 
great  risk  of  being  overtaken  ere  it  could  reach  the  island 
which  he  hoped  to  gain,  and  thus  be  screened  on  one  side 
at  least. 

"I  misdoubt  we'll  have  warem  work,  son,"  said  Luke. 
"Do  you  warn  'em  off.  We  can  fight  'em  better  at  long 
range,  if  we  must  fight  at  all." 


THE    LATIMEES.  123 

John  turned  over  his  sweep  to  Hannibal,  seized  his  rifle 
and  hailed  the  foremost  boat.  "Neighbors/'  said  he,  "I 
warn  you  that  we  are  five  determined  men,  well  armed.  I 
beg  you  to  stop.  I  beseech  you,  as  friends  and  neighbors, 
do  not  compel  us  to  shed  blood.  But  mark  you!  If  you 
won't  stop  we'll  fire,  and  your  blood  be  on  your  own  heads!" 

Andy  seized  his  rifle,  and  came  to  John's  side.  Luke 
stepped  into  line.  The  Inspector  joined  the  three,  and 
Featherfoot,  who  had  seized  a  stray  rifle,  which  she  well 
knew  how  to  use  in  emergency,  took  her  place  behind  the 
bulwark,  poised  her  piece  and  waited  with  the  others  the 
word  of  command.  Hannibal,  who  was  not  lacking  in  cour 
age,  left  the  sweep  and  stood  behind  his  master  armed  with 
a  musket. 

The  assailants  were  stout-hearted  men,  but  the  heat  of 
passion  was  somewhat  spent,  and  the  instinct  of  self-preser 
vation  asserted  itself.  They  saw  that  the  log  bulwarks  and 
cabin  walls  gave  the  keel  boat  folk  great  advantage  in 
repelling  assault,  while  those  in  the  open  skiffs  were  in 
point-blank  range  and  with  no  defense  against  bullets. 
They  knew  the  mettle  of  the  men  they  had  to  deal  with, 
and  that  two  of  them  at  least  wrere  among  the  surest  shots 
on  the  frontier.  They  ceased  rowing.  One  or  two  skiffs 
began  to  back  water;  and  Thump  McKay,  who  was  still 
recognized  as  a  sort  of  leader,  attempted  a  parley.  One  of 
the  boats,  however,  kept  straight  on.  It  was  a  birch  canoe, 
manned  by  a  solitary  oarsman,  who  wore  a  gray  blanket 
wammus  and  a  coon-skin  cap.  His  face  could  not  be  seen  as 
he  rowed  with  back  to  the  keel  boat,  turning  only  a  side 
glance  to  get  his  direction. 

"Stop!"  shouted  John,  "or  I'll  shoot!"  He  drew  up  his 
piece,  and  fairly  covered  the  hardy  canoeist,  who  never 
theless  pushed  straight  on. 

"Hist!"  cried  Featherfoot,  stepping  quickly  forward 
and  pushing  up  John's  rifle.  "You  no  see?  Panther!" 

John  had  scarcely  lowered  his  rifle  ere  the  canoe  shot 
to  the  bulwark  and  Panther,  flinging  off  cap  and  coat, 
leaped  upon  deck  with  a  satisfied  "hugh"  and  nod  of  recog 
nition,  and  shaking  aloft  his  rifle  took  his  stand  in  the  line 
of  defenders. 

His  movements  had  won  the  attention  of  the  men  in 
the  little  squadron  of  boats,  and  the  diversion  served  the 
double  purpose  of  giving  their  thoughts  a  new  bent  and 


124  THE   LATIMEES. 

bating  somewhat  the  heat  of  their  feelings.  It  was  now 
clear  to  them  that  to  carry  out  their  plans  would  cost  the 
lives  of  several  of  their  party,  a  sacrifice  which  would 
hardly  repay  them  for  any  advantage  to  be  got  by  the  In 
spector's  seizure.  Backwoodsmen  are  quick  to  take  in  the 
logic  of  such  a  situation,  and  their  familiarity  with  Indian 
warfare  had  given  them  so  much  of  the  savages'  method 
and  spirit  that  even  though  the  chances  seemed  good  to 
capture  the  keel  boat  by  assault,  they  thought  it  better  to 
retire  for  the  present.  This  they  did,  not  without  vigorous 
demonstrations  of  disappointment,  and  loudly  voiced 
threats  which  were  directed  as  much  against  John  and 
Luke  as  against  Gen.  Neville. 

"Bad  cess  to  ye,  for  an  unked  lot!"  exclaimed  Luke. 
"Ye  shall  not  be  without  a  chance  to  put  your  threats  to 
proof,  and  try  who  of  us  is  in  the  right.  Ye  wull  all  be 
'shamed  of  these  doin's  yit,  or  I'm  fur  out  in  my  reck'nin'." 
So  saying,  he  cast  loose  Panther's  canoe,  jumped  into  it, 
and  rowed  after  the  retiring  squadron. 

"Surely,"  exclaimed  Blanche,  who  had  watched  the  pro 
ceeding  from  the  cabin  door,  and  now  came  forward  to 
remonstrate;  "your  father  does  not  mean  to  venture  him 
self  among  those  dreadful  me-n?" 

How  did  she  know  that  Luke  was  his  father?  John 
could  not  make  that  out,  for  she  had  never  seen  him  before ; 
nevertheless,  he  was  pleased  at  the  interest  which  the  maiden 
took  in  Luke's  welfare.  "I  am  not  greatly  concerned  about 
father,"  he  answered.  "He  knows  well  the  men  with  whom 
he  has  to  deal.  Many  of  them  are  old  friends  and  neigh 
bors,  and  he  will  find  plenty  of  sober  heads  who  will  stand 
by  him  against  the  wild  spirits  who  came  out  to  attack  us. 
Moreover,  father  has  some  sort  of  official  power  over  the 
men  who  made  the  most  trouble,  though  what  it  is  I  cannot 
say,  as  I  am  not  associated  with  them,  nor  much  in  sym 
pathy  with  their  views.  However,  be  the  danger  what  it 
may,  Luke  Latimer  is  well  able  to  take  care  of  himself;  and 
if  he  were  not,  it  would  be  idle  for  us  to  try  to  change  his 
mind.  Besides,  yonder  are  his  horses  hitched  on  the  rid*ge 
of  the  bank.  I  know  them  well,  and  mother's  riding  mare 
"Snowball"  is  with  them.  It  would  be  a  sore  peril  indeed 
that  would  stay  father  from  caring  for  his  stock.  We  need 
not  trouble  about  him.  A  more  important  matter  is  for  us 
to  look  after  you  and  your  uncle,  and  plan  some  way  of 
getting  you  safely  away  from  these  tumultuous  spirits." 


THE    LATIMERS.  125 

So  saying,  he  took  the  tiller,  and  bidding  Andy  and 
Hannibal  go  to  the  sweeps,  soon  laid  the  keel  boat  under  the 
northern  shore  of  the  island.  Little  now  remains  of  the 
original  form  of  this  bit  of  land,  which  serves  as  a  pier  for 
the  railroad  bridge  that  passes  from  the  Ohio  shore  to  the 
city  of  Wheeling.  But  in  that  early  day  it  was  covered 
with  heavy  timber,  and  the  bank  rose  for  many  feet  above 
the  water's  edge.  As  the  evening  was  now  falling,  a  camp- 
fire  was  kindled  and  supper  prepared.  Panther  was  set  to 
watch  from  the  summit  of  the  island,  and  bidden  report 
any  threatening  movement  from  the  shore.  Then  after 
conference,  it  was  agreed  to  rest  where  they  were  dur 
ing  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  and  when  the  moon 
was  fairly  above  the  hills  and  trees,  they  would  quietly 
pull  out  and  make  as  much  headway  towards  Pittsburg  as 
they  could. 

Supper  passed  off  with  some  hilarity,  for  Andy's  good 
spirits  were  not  to  be  quenched  by  a  trifling  skirmish;  and 
most  of  the  party  were  so  elated  at  their  deliverance  from 
the  assaulting  boatmen,  and  by  the  prospect  of  escape,  that 
they  bubbled  over  in  jests  and  laughter  and  merry  speech. 
The  Inspector  alone  was  somewhat  glum,  for  he  was  dis 
appointed  and  mortified  at  his  reception  in  Wheeling,  and 
his  enforced  retreat.  Even  more,  he  was  chagrined  that  he 
had  scorned  so  cavalierly  the  young  captain's  advice,  and 
been  compelled  by  hard  facts  to  acknowledge  that  his  ow^i 
self-will  had  brought  his  party  beneath  the  shadow  of  what 
might  have  been  a  calamity.  However,  he  composed  him 
self  to  rest  upon  the  deck,  while  Blanche  retired  to  sleep, 
much  comforted  by  the  companionship  of  her  Indian 
friend,  Featherfoot.  Hannibal,  to  whom  sleep  always  came 
as  naturally  as  to  dumb  beasts,  curled  himself  under  the  lee 
of  the  cabin. 

A  little  before  nine  o'clock  Panther  slipped  like  a  shadow 
across  the  gang-plank  and  summoned  John,  who  followed 
him  rapidly  to  the  summit  of  the  island.  "See!"  said  the 
Indian,  pointing  out  a  dark  spot  on  the  river  that  gradually 
drew  nearer.  A  boat  had  pushed  from  the  southern  shore, 
and  sweeping  well  around  towards  the  Ohio  side,  was  grad 
ually  approaching  the  northern  bank  of  the  island.  A  half 
dozen  frontiersmen  were  seated  in  the  skiff,  which  was 
being  paddled  by  two  of  their  number  with  that  silence 
which  white  men  readily  learned  from  the  aborigines, 


126  THE   LATIMERS. 

and  which  one  may  observe  even  now  among  the  guides 
and  watermen  of  the  Adirondacks. 

"They  intend  a  night  attack,"  said  John.  "Fools!  Do 
they  think  us  such  poor  woodsmen  as  to  be  taken  by  sur 
prise?  What  shall  we  do?" 

"Humph!"  answered  Panther,  softly  patting  his  gun- 
stock.  "Canoe  six  men;  keel  boat,  five  We  in  ambush; 
they  in  open  skiff.  They  dead  men,  sure!" 

"No,  no!"  John  replied.  "Not  that!  unless  necessary. 
Can't  we  arrange  to  scare  them  away?"  He  watched  with 
a  troubled  face  the  noiseless  approach  of  the  skiff,  whose 
outlines  were  growing  more  distinct. 

"Ah,  I  have  it!"  He  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the 
Indian,  who  seemed  to  give  unwilling  consent,  and  the  two 
crossed  to  a  point  on  the  northern  shore,  where  a  huge  rock 
rose  sheer  from  the  waters.  The  trunk  of  a  large  fallen 
tree  jutted  over  the  precipice,  whose  roots  still  held  to  the 
earth,  and  the  overhanging  branches  were  covered  with 
leaves. 

"The  skiff  must  pass  this  point,"  said  John.  "Watch 
here  behind  the  tree  till  I  return."  He  sought  the  keel 
boat,  put  Andy  on  his  guard,  with  instructions  to  arouse 
the  General,  and  soon  reappeared  carrying  two  large  copper 
kettles  full  of  water,  one  in  either  hand.  These  vessels 
formed  part  of  a  cargo  which  some  enterprising  merchant 
had  shipped  to  the  frontier  for  use  in  boiling  maple  sugar 
water,  and  now  were  part  of  the  Fanny's  outfit.  Sheltered 
behind  the  old  tree  the  two  men  watched  the  gradual  and 
noiseless  approach  of  the  skiff,  which  was  cautiously  pad 
dled  under  the  jutting  shore,  and  stopped  just  beneath  the 
spot  where  John  and  Panther  waited. 

Here  a  whispered  parley  was  held  by  the  adventurers, 
who  were  evidently  planning  to  make  a  spurt  to  the  keel 
boat,  whose  inmates  they  believed  to  be  asleep,  or  off  their 
guard.  The  men  then  examined  the  priming  of  their  rifles, 
and  at  that  moment  John  lifted  one  of  the  kettles,  and 
swashed  the  contents  down  upon  the  group  in  the  bow. 
The  effect  was  equally  startling  and  amusing.  Had  a  rifle 
shot  been  heard  in  the  night  silence  these  hardy  backwoods 
men  would  not  have  lost  their  poise.  But  here  was  a  new 
experience,  a  most  gruesome  and  unnatural  mode  of  assault, 
never  heard  of  in  Indian  warfare,  or  in  the  wars  of  white 
men!  As  the  stream  of  water  swished  through  the  air  and 


THE   LATIMERS.  127 

doused  the  boatmen,  slushing  their  faces  and  filling  their 
eyes,  thy  lost  their  natural  caution,  and  jumped  up  and 
uttered  a  loud  cry. 

The  lurch  of  the  skiff  and  the  sudden  surprise  thor 
oughly  alarmed  the  men  in  the  stern  of  the  skiff,  who,  quite 
off  their  guard,  rose  to  their  feet  and  were  almost  unshipped 
by  the  rocking  and  splurging  that  followed.  They  instinc 
tively  cocked  their  rifles,  and  not  knowing  whence  the 
assault  had  come,  nor  indeed  quite  apprehending  the  nature 
of  it,  were  staring  wildly  about,  peering  through  the  dark 
ness,  when  John  seized  the  second  kettle,  and  emptied  it 
upon  them. 

As  John  had  given  the  vessel  a  slight  twirl,  the  water 
fairly  covered  the  faces  and  breasts  of  the  boatmen,  and 
what  was  more  to  the  purpose,  dabbled  well  the  priming 
pans  of  their  guns.  The  climax  was  complete.  They 
joined  their  fellows  in  loud  cries  and  curses.  All  sense  of 
prudence  seemed  to  have  gone  from  the  whole  crew.  Some 
of  them  dropped  back  in  the  boat,  while  others  seized  the 
oars  and  began  hastily  to  retreat. 

Panther,  issuing  from  his  throat  low  gurgling  grunts 
intended  for  laughter,  gazed  with  gratified  mien  through 
the  leafy  branches  at  the  absurd  scene  beneath  him.  John, 
well  satisfied,  and  also  assured  that  the  rifles  of  the  men 
were  so  thoroughly  wet  that  they  were  now  disarmed,  took 
rifle  in  hand,  and  showing  himself  upon  the  edge  of  the 
rock,  called  out: 

"Neighbors,  had  we  wished  you  harm  we  might  have 
shot  everyone  of  you  before  you  touched  the  island.  That 
we  did  not  do  so  ought  to  show  you  that  we  wish  you  well. 
If  you  are  wise  men  you  will  now  go  your  way;  and  I  pledge 
you  no  stray  bullets  shall  follow  you.  Good-night,  and 
good-bye !" 

Human  nature  was  too  strong  in  some  of  the  frontiers 
men  to  accept  this  chivalrous  conduct  in  the  spirit  intended 
by  John,  and  one  of  them  saluted  him  with  an  outburst  of 
the  strangely-seasoned  profanity  in  vogue  on  the  frontier. 

"Keep  cool,  Charley!"  said  John,  who  recognized  the 
man.  Then,  struck  by  the  absurd  feature  of  the  adventure, 
he  broke  into  hearty  laughter,  and  added:  "There's  no  use 
crying  over  spilt  milk,  you  know!" 

"Keep  cool?"  echoed  Charley,  with  somewhat  mollified 
but  still  angry  tone.  "We're  like  enough  to  keep  cool  for  a 


128  THE   LATIMEKS. 

long  spell,  with  your  dawgoned  sliddery  swash  a-runnin' 
down  our  backs  an'  breeches.  Spilt  milk  be  derned!  I 
feel's  tho'  ye'd  spilt  half  the  river  in  my  buzzum.  Dang 
it  all!" 

Thump  McKay,  who  was  one  of  the  attacking  party, 
had  some  sense  of  humor,  and  also  some  capacity  to  appre 
ciate  the  generous  spirit  in  which  John  had  dealt  with 
them.  The  ridiculous  position  of  the  party,  wet  as  muskrals 
and  their  good  rifles  disarmed  by  the  swash  of  John's  sugar 
kettles,  struck  his  fancy;  and  Charley's  grumbling  com 
ments  opened  the  gate  of  mirthf  ulness.  He  began  to  smile, 
then  to  snicker,  and  at  last  a  loud  roar  broke  from  his  sten 
torian  lungs,  the  infection  of  which  his  partners  could  not 
resist.  Even  the  profane  Charley  caught  the  contagion, 
and  joined  at  last  in  the  glee. 

"Thank  ye,  kindly,  Cap'n  Jock!"  said  Thump  at  last. 
"It  was  mighty  ginerous  in  ye  to  mind  the  old  proverb  not 
to  throw  water  on  a  drownded  rat.  Good  night  til  ye! 
Give  way,  lads!" 

John,  well  pleased  at  the  issue  of  affairs,  laughed 
heartily  from  his  high  vantage  ground,  and  with  renewed 
farewells  and  expressions  of  good  will,  the  strange  assault 
ended.  The  skiff,  not  silently  as  it  had  approached,  but 
with  noisy  splash,  pulled  away  towards  the  Virginia  shore. 

In  another  hour  the  moon  began  to  creep  over  the  hills, 
and  soon  a  fair  light  shone  upon  the  river,  giving  an  open 
course.  Without  disturbing  Blanche,  who  all  this  time 
had  been  quietly  sleeping  within  the  cabin,  John  sent  the 
men  to  the  poles  and  sweeps,  took  the  tiller,  and  turned 
the  boat's  bow  up  stream.  His  mind  was  at  ease,  for  he  felt 
that  after  the  night  adventure  none  of  the  mob  would  be 
likely  to  attack  the  boat.  As  the  next  day  was  the  Sabbath, 
he  well  knew  that  even  men  banded  for  such  attempts  as 
he  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  thwart,  would  be  held  by 
their  own  conscience  and  their  leader's  strict  regard  for  the 
sacred  day,  from  attempting  open  violence. 

When  Wheeling  was  lost  to  sight,  John  set  Panther 
upon  the  southern  shore,  that  he  might  learn  what  fortune 
had  befallen  Luke  Latimer,  and  report  the  next  day  at  a 
rendezvous  up  stream,  or  sooner  if  aid  were  needed.  The 
Mingo  had  already  told  them  how  Luke  had  been  brought 
to  the  rescue,  and  Bradford  with  him,  much  against  his  will, 
but  under  the  joint  influence  of  personal  fear  of  Latimer's 


THE   LATIMERS.  129 

vengeance  and  of  politic  wish  to  save  his  larger  plot  from 
exposure  and  rupture. 

In  due  season  Panther  hailed  the  keel  boat,  and  gave  the 
good  news  that  the  mob  had  quietly  dispersed,  much  moved 
thereto  by  Thump  McKay's  story  of  the  night  adventure; 
and  that  Luke  was  on  his  way  homeward.  With  light 
hearts  the  keel  boat  party  resumed  their  journey  up  the 
river,  which  was  no  easy  task,  for  the  craft  was  ill  con 
structed  to  make  headway  against  a  current.  There  was 
much  hard  work  with  the  sweeps  and  poles;  much  towing 
with  ropes  from  the  shore  when  free  footing  was  given;  and 
yet  more  within  the  dry  bed  of  the  river,  which  still  ran 
low  in  its  channel.  But  at  last,  after  several  days'  pleasant 
voyage,  Pittsburg  was  reached,  and  the  party  separated  with 
kind  adieus  and  interchange  of  good  wishes. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  John  felt  loath  to  take  the 
wage  of  his  hard  work,  though  he  was  vexed  at  himself  for 
the  feeling.  "What  was  Gen.  Neville  to  him?  And  what 
was  Blanche?  A  comely  maiden,  no  doubt,  with  sweet  and 
winsome  ways  and  a  strange  power  to  stir  his  heart  and  hold 
his  thoughts.  But,  tush!  what  nonsense  to  moon  over  the 
matter!  A  summer  holiday  acquaintance,  pleasant  enough, 
to  be  sure ,  and  with  somewhat  lively  acompaniments!  But 
there  it  ended,  of  course.  Let  it  end!  There's  serious  work 
before  you,  young  man,  and  plenty  of  it." 

As  for  Blanche,  she  had  many  a  pleasant  tale  to  tell  of 
her  journey  down  the  Ohio  and  its  exciting  incidents.  She 
seemed  to  herself  to  allow  full  credit  to  Captain  John,  who 
had  been  the  chief  hero  of  the  adventures,  but  her  uncle 
thought  it  odd  that  she  should  give  scant  praise  to  the 
young  keel-boatman  who,  he  averred,  was  a  fine  fellow,  a 
rare  fellow — for  one  of  his  rank!  Whereat  Madam  Neville, 
wiser  in  certain  niceties  of  women's  ways  than  her  lord, 
inwardly  said:  "I  must  look  to  this!  Blanche  must  be 
weaned  at  once  from  such  an  outlandish  fancy." 


130  THE   LATIMER3. 

CHAPTEE  XVI. 

A   SACRAMENTAL   CAMP. 

Blanche  Oldham  had  come  over  from  the  Inspector's  to 
visit  another  relative,  Gen.  George  Morgan.  He  was  a  revo 
lutionary  veteran  who  had  settled  within  the  bounds  of  Dr. 
McMillan's  parish,  at  a  point  now  known  as  Morganza. 
The  October  Sacramental  Communion  drew  near,  and  ser 
vices  were  to  be  held  both  day  and  night  during  the  pre 
paratory  season.  Thursday  was  appointed  for  the  "ante- 
communion  fast."  It  was  observed  as  a  most  solemn  day, 
hardly  less  sacred  than  the  Sabbath  itself,  with  abstinence 
from  food  and  with  vigils  of  prayer.  In  many  a  lonely  spot 
in  the  woods  the  voice  of  supplication  was  heard.  Startled 
birds,  squirrels,  chipmunks  and  other  beasts  stayed  their 
flight,  and  looking  back  saw  with  amazement  the  spectacle 
of  a  human  being  whose  office  plainly  was  not  to  harm 
them,  but  who  seemed  to  speak  to  some  One,  alone  there  in 
the  forest  depths.  What  could  they  have  conjectured 
within  their  wee  beastie  brains? 

Blanche  set  out  for  the  meeting-house  green  to  attend 
the  ten  o'clock  morning  service,  accompanied  by  her  Aunt 
Morgan.  Her  escort  was  a  young  officer  of  the  Fort  Pitt 
garrison,  where  her  relatives,  Majors  Craig  and  Kirkpatrick, 
were  also  stationed.  Lieut.  Euel  Burd  was  a  Philadelphia 
gentleman,  of  comely  manners,  fine  soldierly  appearance,  a 
few  years  older  than  Blanche,  and  a  most  agreeable  com 
panion.  His  attentions  were  happily  free  from  officious- 
ness  on  the  one  hand  and  frigidity  on  the  other,  and  while 
courtly,  were  natural  and  sincere.  He  had  been  much  won 
by  Blanche's  beauty  and  sprightly  character,  and  was  a  fav 
ored  visitor  at  the  Neville  mansion. 

The  party  were  mounted  ahorseback,  and  their  way  lay 
over  country  roads  and  wooded  trails  along  the  winding 
banks  of  Chartiers  Creek.  Such  a  ride  on  a  fine  October 
day  is  a  rare  pleasure.  A  soft  haze  overhangs  the  land 
scape  and  tints  the  air.  The  balmy  days  are  full  of  sun 
light,  yet  not  with  relaxing  warmth.  In  mountain  regions 
and  among  the  hills,  and  later  in  the  lowlands  also,  the 
evening  frost  hastens  the  natural  change  of  chloropbyl  and 


THE    LATIMERS.  131 

cell  structure  wrought  within  the  fading  leaves.  Then 
comes  the  glory  of  the  year.  The  sumac  bushes  are  on  fire 
with  scarlet.  The  Virginia  creeper,  with  various  hues  of 
green,  brown,  russet  and  red  glowing  on  the  same  vine,  en 
wraps  living  trees,  or  stumps  and  broken  trunks,  that  stand 
up  in  the  woods  like  vast  and  splendid  columnar  plants. 
The  maples  are  a  mass  of  yellow  foliage.  The  gum  trees 
glow  with  bright  red.  Ground  plants  and  low  bushes  repeat 
with  endless  variety  the  colors  of  the  forest  leaves. 

As  our  churchgoers  rode  by  the  fields  they  saw  the 
Indian  corn  standing  in  rows,  every  stalk  bannered  with 
russet  brown  blades  and  darkish  silken  tassels,  while  here 
and  there  a  yellow  kernel  peeped  out  from  a  rent  top,  like 
teeth  from  laughing  lips.  Again,  a  farmer  with  his  family 
and  hired  man,  or  mayhap  with  his  negro  slaves,  would  be 
at  work  "shucking"  the  corn.  They  hurled  the  ears,  as  they 
stripped  them  from  the  husks,  upon  yellow  conical  heaps 
that  lined  the  furrows  whence  also  big  pumpkins  turned  up 
their  round  golden  sides  to  the  sun.  From  standing  corn 
stalks  and  fence-posts,  from  stubble  fields  and  herbage 
everywhere  floated  out  long  streamers  cf  white  gossamer, 
that  dallied  with  the  breeze  and  flapped  and  glistened  in 
the  sunlight.  No  wonder  that  the  maiden  thought  this  an 
ideal  time  for  life  in  the  woods,  and  for  such  open-air  meet 
ings  as  the  pioneers  were  about  to  hold. 

As  the  party  approached  Chartiers  Church  they  were 
joined  by  others  afoot  and  ahorreback,  some  riding  double, 
that  is,  a  woman  or  child  mounted  on  a  pillion  behind  the 
man.  These  turned  into  the  highway  from  the  plantation 
roads,  and  formed  quite  a  cavalcade  at  last.  Once  a  year 
these  sacred  assemblages  were  held,  and  the  Lord's  Supper 
administered.  Far  and  near  the  tidings  went,  and  attracted 
those  throughout  many  miles  of  surrounding  country  who 
gave  heed  to  religion,  for  ministers  and  churches  were  few 
and  widely  scattered.  The  ancient  manners  of  the  Church 
of  Scotland,  as  practiced  also  among  Ulster  Presbyterians, 
were  those  to  which  the  people  had  been  used.  As  far  as 
might  be  they  carried  them  out,  only  limited  by  conditions 
imposed  by  the  new  country.  Hence  had  originated  camp 
meetings,  or  four-days'  meetings,  or  sacramental  camps, 
by  all  which  titles  the  assemblages  were  known. 

It  was  a  novel  and  interesting  sight  presented  to 
Blanche  as  her  party  moved  among  the  hills  to  the  Char- 


132  THE   LATIMERS. 

tiers  meeting  house.  The  edifice  stood  well  aloft  upon  a 
high  hill  slope.  Already  a  number  of  campers  from  a  dis 
tance  had  settled  within  the  adjoining  grove  for  the  four 
days'  meeting.  They  had  arranged  their  wagons  in  a  semi 
circle  facing  the  green.  Some  tents  also  were  pitched,  and 
booths  of  leafy  boughs  had  been  builded.  Couches  were 
provided  for  the  women  and  children  within  the  canvas- 
covered  wagon  beds,  while  the  men  bivouacked  under  the 
wagons  or  in  adjacent  booths.  Eude  fireplaces  were  extem 
porized,  with  forked  stakes  and  cross-pieces,  and  pronged 
cranes  on  which  to  swing  iron  pots  for  boiling.  Further 
within  the  woods  the  horses  were  picketed  to  young  trees. 

As  the  hour  for  service  was  near5  the  congregation  was 
already  assembled.  The  people  were  seated  upon  logs  laid 
on  the  ground,  or  on  boards  and  slabs  which  rested  upon 
stones  and  wooden  chunks.  These  rude  benches  were 
grouped  in  blocks,  like  pews  in  a  church,  before  and  on 
either  flank  of  the  preaching  tent.  Many  of  the  worship 
pers,  however,  had  brought  with  them  chairs  and  stools. 
The  preachers'  tent  was  a  wooden  shed  with  a  raised  floor 
approached  by  several  steps.  It  was  roofed,  but  open  at  the 
sides  and  in  front.  It  served  not  only  as  a  platform  and 
sounding  board,  but  to  satisfy  the  people's  sense  of  the  dig 
nity  due  the  clergy,  and  as  a  shelter  for  the  officiating  min 
isters.  These  were  three.  The  first  was  Dr.  McMillan,  the 
local  bishop,  who  presided.  He  was  a  tall  person,  with 
broad  shoulders  and  heavy  frame,  strongly  inclined  to  port 
liness.  He  had  smooth-shaven  cheeks  after  the  fashion 
of  the  times;  a  long  face  with  dewlaps  to  the  chin,  broad 
high  forehead  surmounting  a  long  head,  and  large  eyes  with 
drooping  under  eyelids.  In  complexion  he  was  unusually 
swart,  "a  black-avised  man,"  as  the  people  phrased  it.  His 
countenance  had  a  stern  aspect,  and  to  a  stranger  rather 
forbidding.  His  features  were  prominent  and  strongly 
marked,  and  the  face  was  not  an  unpleasing  one,  though 
it  savored  less  of  culture  than  of  masculine  strength  and 
sincerity  such  as  became  a  pioneer  preacher.  He  wore  a 
simple  clerical  coat,  with  black  buckskin  breeches  tied  at 
the  knees  with  leathern  thongs  in  lieu  of  silver  buckles. 

The  second  minister  was  the  Rev.  John  Patterson,  a 
man  of  about  forty-two,  especially  noted  for  his  piety,  unc 
tion  and  marvelous  power  in  prevailing  prayer.  With  these 
was  an  aged  clergyman,  Rev.  John  Clark.  He  wore  a  huge 


THE   LATIMERS.  133 

white  peruke  or  wig,  somewhat,  it  must  be  confessed,  to  the 
scandal  of  some  of  his  auditors  who  thought  this  fashion 
savored  of  vanity.  But  the  sanctity  of  the  venerable  man 
gave  tolerance  to  his  adherence  to  the  old  custom.  The 
ministers  did  not  wear  the  Geneva  gown,  but  their  garments 
had  something  of  a  clerical  cut,  or  rather  of  a  Quaker 
fashion,  and  differed  little  from  those  of  their  people  in 
quality,  though  they  were  dyed  a  blackish  color. 

By  eleven  o'clock  the  people  were  all  gathered,  a  large 
audience,  far  too  many  to  find  room  within  the  church. 
They  were  seated  reverently  on  the  rows  of  benches,  and 
took  eager  part  in  all  the  services.  Dr.  McMillan  began 
the  public  worship  by  announcing  a  Psalm  from  Rouse's 
version.  This  was  still  the  favorite,  although  Watts's 
Imitations,"  for  alternate  use  with  House,  was  coming  into 
vogue  on  the  flood  tide  of  the  late  revival.  The  Psalm 
given  out,  the  precentor,  who  stood  upon  a  little  elevated 
desk  immediately  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  proceeded  to  read 
a  line  in  a  high  and  rather  drawling  voice,  almost  intoning 
it,  indeed.  He  sounded  the  last  syllable  read  on  a  dead 
level  with  the  first  note  of  the  tune  which  he  set  for  the 
piece,  and  thereupon  the  whole  congregation  joined  with 
him  in  singing.  Thus,  line  by  line,  throughout  the  whole 
Psalm  the  precentor  read,  and  then  repeated  the  same  in 
melody,  being  followed  by  the  people. 

The  whole  had  a  strange  effect  upon  Blanche,  as  she 
listened  for  the  first  time  to  this  infracted  mode  of  public 
praise.  The  deep  silence  of  the  woods,  broken  only  by  the 
monotonous  intonations  of  the  precentor;  then  the  sudden 
outburst  of  song  from  the  throats  of  the  multitude,  to  be 
as  suddenly  checked  and  succeeded  by  the  same  silence,  all 
this  issuing  out  of  the  open  grove,  in  the  bright  air  of 
October,  deeply  moved  the  young  woman. 

The  custom  of  "lining  out"  was  quite  universal  in  those 
days.  It  was  compelled  by  the  fewness  of  Psalm  books,  and 
opened  the  only  way  for  the  people  to  take  a  vocal  part  in 
public  praise.  The  fashion  became  seated  in  the  congrega 
tions,  and  continued  long  after  the  need  for  it.  Men  of 
sixty  now  living  can  remember  when  even  in  Eastern  Ohio 
"lining  out"  was  continued  in  some  churches,  though  cheap 
printing  had  supplied  plenty  of  books.  At  first,  but  one 
line  was  read  by  the  precentor;  and  it  seemed  a  grave  step 
and  a  serious  breach  upon  "the  good  old  ways,"  when  two 


134  THE   LATIMERS. 

consecutive  lines  were  announced.  When  at  last  the  whole 
custom  was  displaced  by  cursive  singing,  many  good  folk 
felt  that  they  had  lost  an  important  ordinance  from  their 
spiritual  lives,  and  vigorously  protested.  The  controversy 
over  the  respective  merits  of  the  aread  line"  and  the  "run 
line"  left  bitter  feeling  in  many  congregations. 

Ever  and  anon  Blanche  observed  some  one  rise  to  his  feet, 
and  stand  a  while  in  the  midst  of  the  sitting  congregation. 
Another  and  another  would  follow,  so  that  a  dozen  or  more 
in  various  parts  of  the  audience,  who  seemed  to  take  no 
heed  at  all  thereof,  would  be  on  their  feet  at  once.  On 
inquiry,  Blanche  learned  that  this  was  the  manner  of  the 
hard-working  farmers  to  keep  themselves  from  falling 
asleep.  So  little  used  were  they  to  rest,  save  when  they  lay 
down  at  night,  that  a  cessation  of  labor  while  seated  in 
meeting  soon  brought  on  drowsiness.  This  they  overcame 
by  jumping  to  their  feet  and  standing  still  until  the  spell 
was  broken. 

The  morning  service  being  ended,  a  recess  was  had 
until  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  a  second  preach 
ing  would  be  held.  In  the  interval  luncheon  was  eaten  in 
the  grove  by  the  campers  and  many  neighboring  families. 
Some  who  lived  near  by,  and  those  who  would  not  tarry 
for  the  after  services  left  the  grounds.  Meanwhile  the 
pastor  and  elders  met  in  the  church  to  distribute  "tokens" 
to  intending  communicants,  and  give  instruction  to  en 
quirers.  The  sacramental  token  was  a  bit  of  flattened  lead 
about  one-sixteenth  of  an  inch  in  thickness,  and  half  an 
inch  square,  having  stamped  in  the  middle  a  letter  "M," 
the  initial  of  "Member"  or,  perhaps,  "McMillan."  The 
custom  of  giving  tokens  to  intending  communicants  was 
almost  universal  at  that  period,  having  been  brought  from 
the  Church  of  Scotland  and  its  branch  in  northern  Ireland. 
It  is  now  entirely  abandoned,  or  survives  only  in  some  con 
servative  and  rustic1  corner  of  the  land  where  men  hold 
tenaciously  to  old  ways. 

From  the  meeting  ground  the  Morgan  party  took  horse 
and  rode  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  George  McCormack,  which 
stood  on  the  main  street,  well  up  the  slope  of  College  Hill. 
Most  of  the  village  houses  were  open  on  these  sacramental 
occasions,  and  a  free  hospitality  dispensed  to  those  who 
came  for  occasional  service,  or  were  not  disposed  to  camp 
out.  In  the  language  of  the  country,  "the  latch  string  was 


THE    LATIMERS.  135 

out."  Mrs.  McCormack  was  a  Scotchwoman,  somewhat  of 
an  invalid,  whose  husband,  an  Ulster  man,  kept  a  country 
store.  He  had  been  mixed  up  with  the  rebellious  risings 
against  the  British  government  whose  oppressive  measures 
were  opposed  by  the  Presbyterians  and  Roman  Catholics, 
who,  as  united  Irishmen,  in  this  matter  made  common 
cause.  Now  he  was  in  full  cry  after  the  excise  law,  banded 
with  the  most  aggressive  element.  This  fact  had  somewhat 
strained  the  relations  between  his  family  and  the  Morgans, 
whose  kinship  with  Inspector  Neville  cast  their  sympathies 
that  way.  However,  matters  were  not  yet  come  to  the 
point  of  open  rupture  between  the  men,  and  the  women 
kept  up  their  kindly  intimacy. 

The  flower  of  the  McCormack  flock  was  Fanny,  a  maid 
a  little  older  that  Blanche.  She  was  a  comely  damsel, 
whose  features  were  limned  with  that  vigor  of  character 
and  mind  that  so  often  mark  women  of  her  race.  She  was 
the  acknowledged  belle  of  the  settlement  and  was  highly 
esteemed  as  a  noble  hearted  maid.  Young  as  she  was,  her 
voluntary  offices  were  in  demand  wherever  sickness  pre 
vailed.  In  a  section  nearly  destitute  of  ready  medical  aid, 
the  domestic  remedies  at  her  command  were  often  of  high 
est  value.  She  had  that  knack  of  nursing  and  of  compound 
ing  simple  remedies  which  Nature  allots  to  certain  gifted 
ones.  Her  cheerful  deportment  and  genial  spirits,  smiling 
face  and  sympathetic  manner,  wholly  free  from  fussiness, 
officiousness  and  pretense,  were  as  good  as  medicine  to  sick 
folk.  She  was  practically  the  head  of  the  McCormack  fam 
ily,  to  whom  her  mother  looked  in  all  emergencies.  It 
was  her  welcome  that  made  the  visitors,  especially  Blanche 
and  her  attendant,  feel  entirely  at  home. 

The  servants  were  P'line  and  Dave,  negro  slaves.  They 
were  characters  in  their  way  fairly  representative  of  a  con 
siderable  element  of  the  western  population.  P'line  was 
well  skilled  in  cooking  frontier  delices,  but  especially 
noted  for  her  toothsome  and  varied  cuisine  of  corn  bread, — 
pone  cake,  Johnny  cake  or  hoe  cake,  griddle  cakes,  and  the 
decoction  known  as  "mush."  The  latter,  elsewhere  called 
"hasty  pudding"  or  "stirabout,"  became  a  tempting  article  of 
food  in  P'line's  hands.  The  dish  was  served  freshly  boiled, 
in  curdy  mass  like  porridge.  When  cold  and  hardened  it 
was  sliced,  fried  and  served  with  fresh  butter  or  maple 
molasses,  or  with  maple  sugar  or  fruit  sauce,  thus  forming 


136  THE   LATIMEKS. 

in  itself  a  varied  menu.  With  rare  historic  fitness  the 
Pennsylvania  Scotch-Irish  Society  has  adopted  it  as  their 
typical  ancestral  dish,  like  baked  beans  to  a  New  Eng- 
lander,  under  the  title  of  "Pioneer  Porridge."  P'line  had 
an  unusually  sweet,  clear  voice,  and  could  often  be  heard 
above  the  whole  congregation  when  at  public  worship.  As 
the  man  Dave  was  a  famous  bass  singer,  with  a  deep,  roll 
ing  and  unctuous  voice,  the  two  McCormack  servants  were 
welcome  additions  to  the  religious  convocations  of  the 
neighborhood,  and  were  wont  to  sit  near  the  precentor  and 
lead  off  in  the  congregational  singing. 

The  following  day  Blanche,  accompanied  by  her  uncle, 
who  bore  her  needful  belongings  in  leathern  saddle-bags, 
galloped  over  to  the  village,  arriving  at  the  McCormacks 
flushed  and  in  high  spirits  with  the  delightful  exercise. 
She  had  come  upon  a  short  visit  to  Fanny  McCormack. 
After  due  rest,  Gen.  Morgan,  who  had  a  mind  to  see  Andy's 
terriers,  v/ent  over  to  the  Burbeck  cabin  with  Blanche  and 
Fanny,  where  all  were  greeted  with  great  cordiality. 
Bounce  and  Betty,  prinked  out  with  gay  neck  ribbons,  were 
in  high  feather,  and  showed  off  to  fine  advantage  both  in 
dancing  and  in  the  trick  of  sickness  and  recovery.  Then 
Mistress  Peggy  played  a  game  of  hide-and-seek  with  them, 
and  Andy  exhibited  them  in  a  new  trick,  greatly  to  the 
delight  of  his  visitors.  The  company  broke  up  well  pleased, 
although  Andy  was  disappointed  in  one  particular.  He 
had  made  a  point  to  tell  John  Latimer  of  the  intended  visit 
to  his  house.  He  thought  the  Captain  would  like  to  see 
Miss  Blanche  and  would  drop  around  "sort  of  onintintional 
like."  But  John  held  aloof,  not  being  minded  to  thrust 
himself  upon  Miss  Blanche's  notice  without  her  consent. 
Andy,  who  for  some  occult  reason  was  strongly  possessed 
of  match-making  intermeddling  between  these  two  young 
people,  was  much  vexed.  In  truth,  he  was  now  disposed  to 
think  that  his  wife  might  be  partly  right.  She  had  told 
him  the  night  before,  while  exchanging  matrimonial  con 
fidences  ere  they  fell  asleep,  that  he  "beeta  mind  his  own 
business,  for  he  would  be  sure  to  spill  the  fat  intil  the  fire 
afore  he  was  done  with  it.  Besides,  why  need  he  bother  about 
Blanche  Oldham?  There  was  Fanny  McCormack,  whose 
little  finger  was  better  nor  the  whole  arm  of  the  eastern 
lassie.  Though,  to  be  sure,  Miss  Blanche  was  a  trim  and 
comely  leddie,  and  true  quality;  there  was  no  denyin'  that." 


THE   LATIMERS.  137 

Gen.  Morgan  being  disposed  to  walk  part  of  the  way 
homeward,  ordered  his  colored  man  to  meet  him  with  the 
horse  on  the  high  road.  Accompanied  by  Andy,  who  had 
a  mind  to  enjoy  the  distinguished  man's  conversation,  he 
started  down  the  hill,  and  so  off  towards  the  Morgan  house. 
As  they  passed  a  large  oak  tree  on  the  wayside  near  a  fork 
of  the  road,  they  saw  fastened  upon  the  trunk  a  paper  bill, 
a  common  way  of  posting  notices  in  that  day. 

"What's  this?"  asked  the  General. 

"Some  intimation  about  the  camp  sarvice,  A'  dar'  say/' 
replied  Andy.  "We  beeta  cast  our  eyes  over  it."  Drawing 
near  the  General  read  aloud,  with  much  agitation,  the  fol 
lowing  notice: 

"To  all  Good  Citizens: 

"You  are  hereby  advised  that  it  has  been  resolved  to 
take  all  legal  methods  to  obstruct  the  operation  of  the 
iniquitous  and  oppressive  Excise  Law.  You  are  hereby 
warned  to  have  no  fellowship  with  such  as  accept  offices 
under  it,  and  to  withdraw  from  them  every  assistance  of 
whatever  sort;  to  withhold  the  comforts  of  life;  to  refuse 
to  sell  or  to  buy  the  labor  of,  or  to  employ  as  laborers  any 
and  all  persons  who  accept  such  offices. 

"By  Order  of  the  Committee, 

"TOM   THE   TlXKER." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  of  that?"  exclaimed  the 
General  indignantly.  "It  makes  an  honest  man's  blood 
boil,  the  presumption  of  these  nameless  banditti.  Who  is 
this  Tom  the  Tinker?" 

"Feint  a  haet  can  I  tell,"  said  Andy,  somewhat  warmly. 
"How  should  I  know  more  nor  your  honor?" 

"Do  you  know  Luke  Latimer?"  the  General  asked,  after 
a.  moment's  pause. 

"To  be  sure  A'  do,  an'  an  honester  man  don't  walk  the 
grround.  But  what  of  him?" 

"I  have  heard  it  whispered  about  that  he  is  Tom  the 
Tinker;  that  he  inspires  all  the  notices  in  the  Pittsburg 
Gazette,  and  these  placards  on  the  highways  and  byways. 
He  is  not  sufficiently  educated  to  prepare  them  himself, 
I  learn,  but  has  a  clever  son  who  is  hand  in  glove  with  him 
in  hatching  this  excise  rebellion,  and  who  puts  the  Tom 
the  Tinker  outgivings  into  shape.  Have  you  heard  that?" 


138  THE   LATIMERS. 

"Lord  save  us!"  cried  Andy,  throwing  up  his  hands  in 
amazement.  He  took  off  his  hat  in  his  angry  excitement, 
and  taking  from  the  crown  his  red  bandanna,  mopped  his 
face  with  it  and  then  fairly  waved  it  in  indignation. 
"Be'lzebub,  the  father  of  lies,  niver  uttered  a  bigger  whop 
per  nor  that.  Luke  Latimer  Tom  the  Tinker?  Dawgont, 
sirr!  A'd  as  lave  think  of  yoursilf  bein'  the  chief  of  the 
saycrret  committee!  An'  John  Latimer  a-writin'  Tom  the 
Tinker's  scrreeds?  A  fine  pass,  that !  It 'ud  be  as  near  the 
mark  to  say  that  St.  Paul  wrote  Paine's  'Age  of  R'ason,' 
an7  it  'ud  be  quite  as  r'asonable.  Wheriver  did  ye  pick  up 
sich  rubbish  as  that,  sir?" 

"Why,"  said  Gen.  Morgan,  hesitating  somewhat,  "I  have 
heard  the  rumor  several  times.  A  man  was  telling  it  to 
Gen.  Neville  at  his  house  the  other  day  in  my  presence — " 

"An'  did  Giner'l  Niville  belave  it  ?"  asked  Andy  hastily. 
"An'  did  he  spake  no  worrd  of  contradiction  for  John 
Latimer?" 

"Well,  no;  the  General  did  not  believe  the  rumor,  and 
in  fact  pished  and  poo-hooed  it  a  good  deal;  but — " 

"But?  The  divil  take  his  buts!"  interrupted  Andy,  now 
fully  aflame.  "Giner'l  Niville  has  good  cause  to  know  that 
there's  no  truer  man  nor  John  Latimer.  An'  in  plain  truth 
he  owes  his  life  til  him,  to  say  nothin'  of  the  life  of  the 
young  lady,  his  niece;  which  latter  is  nothin'  to  John's 
credit,  of  coorse,  f  er  anny  man  as  is  a  man  'ud  do  as  much 
for  a  rale  lady  like  her.  But  Giner'l  Niville  should  'a 
knocked  the  cullion  down,  sirr,  as  made  such  a  charrge. 
A'd  'a  done  it  out  of  hand,  an  he  were  the  gov'nor  himself, 
sirr!  No  one  knows  better  nor  the  Inspector  that  John 
Latimer  is  clano  ferninst  the  WThuskey  B'ys  an'  their  doin's, 
an'  has  got  manny  a  rebuff  and  hot  worrd  for  the  same." 

"But  his  father  is  one  of  their  leading  men,  isn't  he?" 
asked  Gen.  Morgan. 

"True  enough,  he's  agin  the  axcise,  as  most  of  us  is,  sirr, 
an'  as  Giner'l  Niville  was  himself  afore  he  got  to  be  In 
spector.  An'  Luke  Latimer  is  apt  to  be  at  the  front  of  anny- 
thing  he's  in.  But  what  of  that?  If  your  father  'd  been 
a  rank  Tory,  would  that  've  imp'ached  your  own  patriotism 
and  splandid  war  record?  Do  ye  condimn  the  childer  fer 
the  father's  faults?  A'  tell  you,  sir,  the  story  you  h'ard 
an'  telled  me  is  a  wicked  slander  on  both  father  an'  son, 
an'  espeecially  on  Master  Jock,  God  bless  him!" 


THE    LATIMERS.  139 

Here  the  negro  came  along  with  the  horse.  Gen.  Mor 
gan  made  some  polite  speech  to  soothe  Andy's  ruffled  spirit, 
and  with  a  pleasant  "Good-day"  rode  away.  But  it  was 
long  before  Andy's  mind  cooled  down  to  equilibrium;  par 
ticularly  as  his  indignation  was  fanned  anew  as  he  walked 
around  the  camp  and  saw  several  more  copies  of  the  Tom 
Tinker  placard  nailed  up  in  public  places.  Several  times, 
not  being  able  to  contain  himself,  he  whipped  off  his  cap 
and  thrashed  his  leg  therewith,  and  vented  his  wrath  in 
the  only  oath  he  was  known  to  use: 

"A'll  be  dawgont!  Bad  cess  til  him!  0  Lord,  forgie 
me!  An'  me  jist  comin'  forad  to  the  Saycramint.  But, — 
gach!  It  is  a  dawgont  shame.  Heth!" 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A   NIGHT   SCENE   IN   THE   FOKEST. 

At  the  approach  of  dusk,  Blanche  and  Fanny  accom 
panied  by  Andy  and  Peggy  Burbeck.  started  to  the  camp 
ground.  At  the  foot  of  the  village  hill  they  fell  in  with  the 
Latimers.  The  young  people  made  a  group  by  themselves, 
and  jogged  on  over  the  moonlit  road,  and  along  the  wind 
ing  path  by  which  worshippers  still  ascend  Sanctuary  Hill 
to  Chartiers  Church.  Blanche,  in  fine  spirits,  elated  over 
the  novelty  of  her  situation,  was  remiiided  of  her  Ohio 
River  experiences,  and  went  over  them  again,  telling  them 
to  Fanny  and  chatting  gayly  with  John.  As  they  drew 
near  the  meeting  green  the  sound  of  singing  was  heard,  and 
the  glow  of  the  camp  fires,  flaring  through  the  trees,  was 
seen.  The  music  was  plaintive  and  sweet.  It  floated  up 
through  the  forest  on  the  night  air  with  a  strange  witchery 
in  Blanche's  ears,  to  whom  all  this  was  an  unwonted  scene. 

Fanny  recognized  the  voices  of  their  servants  P'line  and 
Dave  drifting  in  now  and  again  over  all  the  rest.  The 
negroes  of  the  settlement  had  gathered  in  advance  of  the 
hour  of  service,  and  were  enjoying  themselves,  as  they 
highly  relished,  with  songs.  They  sang  the  old  Psalms, 
wnicri  sounded  with  sufficient  quaintness  upon  their 
tongues.  But  they  favored  "Watts's  Imitations,"  which 
better  suited  their  livelier  religious  feelings.  The  people 


140  THE    LATIMERS. 

meanwhile  were  slowly  assembling,  and  as  the  little  knot  of 
Africans,  sitting  at  the  side  of  the  preaching  stand,  sang 
away  heartily  and  melodiously,  the  incomers  listened  with 
pleasure  and  sometimes  joined  in  the  psalm. 

"Hark!"  said  Fanny.  A  stronger  wave  of  song  rolled 
up  the  slope  of  the  hill  on  which  the  churchyard  cemetery 
'stands,  and  which  they  had  now  approached.  "Do  you 
recognize  that  song?77 

"Ay,  indade,"  said  Andy.  "It's  one  of  thim  new-fan 
gled  airs  that  the  Yankee  singm'-master  McKnight  brought 
in  with  the  New  England  Puritans  who  settled  Marietta. 
The  warse  luck  til  him!  A'  like  ma  fiddle  an'  jolly  songs 
on  a  week  day;  but  on  the  Sawbbath  A'  want  no  jigs  an' 
lilts  in  the  house  o'  God.  Gi'me  then  the  old  twelve  saccred 
tunes  o'  Dahvid,  as  well  as  the  old  Psalms!  They  were 
good  enough  for  the  fathers,  an'  they're  good  enough  for 
me.  The  martyrs  sang  them  in  their  kirks,  an'  made  the 
wild  heathered  moors  echo  with  'em  whan  they  were  driven 
to  the  hills  in  the  killin'  times.  They  chanted  them  on  the 
scaffold,  an'  their  lips  trimbled  with  thim  as  their  heads 
dropped  offen  their  necks  under  the  Maiden's  Axe  in  the 
Edinboro  Grassmarket.  They're  good  enough  for  me,  are 
the  old  Psalms,  an'  no  thanks  to  McKnight  for  his  ungodly 
innovations.  Ay,  A'  want  none  of  his  spic  an'  span  new 
pieces.  It's  a  true  sayin'  in  psalmodv  that  'the  old  is 
better.' '; 

Blanche  was  surprised  to  hear  such  conservative  senti 
ments  from  her  jolly  friend,  but  made  no  comment.  "Pray, 
what  are  those  twelve  tunes  you  speak  of,  Andy?"  she 
asked.  "I  didn't  know  that 'any  of  the  music  of  David  had 
come  down  to  our  times." 

"Ah,  well,  A'  won't  jist  say  that  Dahvid  himself,  or  aven 
Asaph  or  Ethan,  or  anny  of  the  sons  of  Korah  composed 
Dundee  or  Stilt,  or  Martyrs  or  Elgin,  or  French  or  Duke's 
Tune  an'  the  other  Twelve  Common  Tunes.  But  they  've 
been  sung  along  with  Dahvid's  Psalms  so  long  'at  they  're 
wan  flesh,  as  it  were,  like  man  an'  wife;  an'  it  seems  saicri- 
leegous  to  divorce  'em." 

"But  what  is  this  song  that  the  slaves  are  singing  now, 
and  which  you  do  not  seem  to  like,  though  it  sounds  so 
sweetly  in  the  gathering  twilight?" 

"That  is  one  of  the  few  stories  that  Andy  doesn't  relish 
telling,"  said  Fanny.  "So  I'll  e'en  tell  it  for  him.  You 


THE   LATIMERS.  141 

must  know  that  our  churches  have  always  used  in  public 
praise  the  metrical  translation  of  the  Psalms  known  as 
'House's  Version/  For  a  long  time  they  had  been  sung 
to  twelve  tunes  which  axe  quite  familiar  to  all  the  people, 
and  are  held  in  a  sort  of  reverence  as  if  they  were  them 
selves  inspired.  In  the  year  1788,  a  part  of  the  New  Eng 
land  expedition  that  settled  Marietta  under  Col.  Putnam, 
missed  the  ark  built  on  the  Youghiogheny  to  take  them 
down  the  Ohio  Eiver.  They  had  to  stay  all  winter  at 
Simerall's  Ferry  within  the  bounds  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Power's 
congregation.  Two  of  the  company  were  singing-masters, 
and  they  introduced  some  of  the  new  tunes  now  sung  in  the 
East,  greatly  to  the  disrelish  of  many  of  the  people  who 
clung  tenaciously  to  the  old  ones. 

"Much  bad  blood  was  stirred  up;  and  one  Sabbath  when 
the  precentor  at  Mingo  Creek  had  started  a  new  tune,  a 
member  of  the  congregation  took  up  the  Psalm  to  one  of 
the  old  Twelve  Common  Metres.  You  may  fancy  what  a 
discord  and  confusion  followed.  One  part  of  the  congrega 
tion  sang  with  the  precentor  to  the  new  tune.  The  other, 
and  larger  part,  sang  lustily  to  the  old  one.  The  minister 
looked  on  in  great  distress,  quite  helpless  to  stop  the  un 
seemly  proceeding.  There  is  no  telling  what  might  have 
happened  if  Col.  Cook,  an  influential  elder,  had  not  risen 
and  rebuked  the  people  with  a  Avarm  speech.  This  shamed 
them  out  of  their  course,  and  so  brought  order  and  peace. 

"The  same  contention  came  into  our  coasts;  but  the 
younger  folk  were  for  the  new  tunes,  and  Mr.  McMillan 
sided  with  them.  The  first  Sabbath  that  the  precentor 
started  a  psalm  to  one  of  the  new  tunes,  one  of  our  worthi 
est  elders,  a  Mr.  Glendenning,  rose  from  the  elder's  bench 
at  the  side  of  the  pulpit  and  left  his  seat.  He  walked  down 
the  aisle  with  a  slow  and  solemn  steD  and  with  face  hard 
set  into  an  expression  of  mingled  indignation  and  grief. 
So  he  marched  to  the  door  and  went  home,  and  has  never 
come  back.  The  young  people  have  named  the  tune  which 
happened  to  be  sung  at  that  time  'Glendinning's  March/ 
and  so  it  is  known  among  us;  although,  perhaps,  it  is  not 
very  kind  nor  indeed  reverent,  to  call  a  sacred  melody  by 
a  jocular  name  of  that  sort.  That's  the  tune  our  colored 
people  were  singing  just  now.  We  were  sorry  to  have  Mr. 
Glendenning  leave  us  in  that  mood.  But  most  of  us  believe 
that  an  Old  Testament  psalmody  should  not  be  imposed 


142  THE    LATIMEKS. 

upon  a  New  Testament  Church,  and  that  there  should  be 
larger  liberty  in  the  use  of  tunes." 

"Ahbut,"  said  Andy,  taking  up  the  subject  with  some 
warmth,  "ye  beeta  remimber  that  the  rale  New  Tistament 
Church,  the  Church  of  our  Lord  Jesus  an'  his  Apostles,  an' 
of  all  the  primitive  belavers,  niver  sang  aught  but  the  old 
Psalms.  Indade,  they  had  nought  but  thim  to  sing.  A'm 
in  favor  of  Apostolical  succission  in  the  matter  of  psawl- 
mody,  annyhow!" 

"Well,  Andy,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Burbeck,  drifting 
into  the  conversation,  "bein's  ye're  so  stiff  in  your  relee- 
gious  principles,  I'm  surprised  that  ye  didn't  secade  along 
wi'  the  elder.  It's  a  bonny  parade  ye'd  made  of  it,  step- 
pin'  down  the  aisle  afore  all  the  people,  in  rare  o'  elder 
Glindinnin'!" 

"Ay,"  said  Andy,  "an  A'  'd  'a  jaloused  his  drift  sooner, 
an'  been  a  bit  nearder  the  door,  A'  might  'a  done  the  same." 

"Nearder  the  door!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Burbeck.  "There 
was  Hither  McKibben,  who  sat  not  tin  feet  fram  ye!  She 
took  up  her  tistimony,  as  she  calls  it,  along  with  her  Bible 
an'  Psalm  book,  an'  shuck  it  at  the  bench  of  elders, — the 
book  I  mane,  not  the  tistimony, — an'  went  a-flyin'  out  of 
the  meetin'  house  after  Glindinnin',  a-cryin',  'We'll  a'  be 
bawck  to  Bawbylon  direckly!'  Ye  might  ?a  done  as  well 
as  that,  Andy,  an  your  conscience  was  so  tander  on  the 
psalmody  quistion." 

"Hoot,  Peggy,  love,"  Andy  responded.  "They's  no 
nade  of  gawin'  intil  that!  Ye  know  well  enough  that  A' 
was  wedged  in  atween  you  on  one  side  and  Mrs.  Elder 
Logan  on  t'other;  an'  ye  a-pluckin'  at  ma  coat  tails,  at  that, 
an'  a-sayin'  'kape  still,  Andy,  an'  don't  make  a  fool  of  your- 
silf !'  An'  warst  of  all,  there  right  forninst  me  in  the  big 
poolpit  sat  Parson  McMillan  a-towerin'  an'  a-glowerin',  an' 
the  great  thunderin'  tones  of  him  beginnin'  fer  til  growl 
all  around  his  chist  an'  booels,  an'  ready  for  til  break  forth. 
The  Elder  and  Mrs.  McKibben  were  a  mite  too  quick  for 
him,  for  he's  rayther  slow  on  the  trigger,  or  they'd  not  'SL 
got  out  of  the  kirk  athout  a  followin'  shot  or  two,  ye  may 
depind  on't.  My  crackies!  A'd  been  a  sore  mishandled 
traveller  an  A'd  jined  Glmdinnin's  march,  that  day!  Be 
sides  that,  my  mither  larn't  me  to  riverince  the  Lord's 
an'inted,  an'  A've  too  much  respict  for  the  meenister,  A' 
hope,  to  whup  off  in  a  huff  an'  turn  my  back  on  him  that 


THE   LATIMERS.  143 

a-way.  More's  the  pity,  Peggy,  my  dear,  that  your  mither 
hadn't  larnt  you  to  have  the  same  raverence  for  the  clargy; 
ay,  an7  for  your  husband  too,  accordin'  to  the  Scriptur  con- 
carnin'  a  wife's  duty  an'  obeydience."  Mrs.  Peggy  greeted 
the  sally  with  a  hearty  laugh,  and  there  the  conversation 
ended,  for  the  party  had  come  close  to  the  limits  of  tha 
camp  meeting. 

Blanche  could  now  see  the  method  of  lighting  up  the 
grounds.  At  the  four  corners  of  the  camp  and  on  either 
side  of  the  preaching  tent  were  "torches,"  stout  posts  on 
which  were  fastened  strong  cross-pieces  whereon  slab  floors 
were  laid.  On  these  thick  coatings  of  earth  were  spread, 
making  elevated  hearths  on  which  were  placed  billets  of 
dried  wood  and  pine  knots.  These  when  kindled  made  a 
bright  high  blaze  that  lit  up  the  grounds,  and  penetrating 
into  the  woods  revealed  the  white  tents  £nd  wagon  covers, 
and  opened  striking  vistas  of  light  amid  the  deep  darkness 
of  the  forest.  The  aromatic  odor  of  burning  wood  per 
vaded  the  air,  which  pleasantly  recalled  to  Blanche  the 
evening  camp  fires  during  her  river  trip.  Columns  of 
smoke  arose  from  the  fou^  torches,  and  hung  in  blue  orles 
and  thin  vails  over  the  open  space,  giving  to  the  moon 
above  a  weird  and  misty  look. 

Soon  the  service  began.  Blanche  and  her  party  had 
seats  well  upon  the  outposts  of  the  square,  yet  every  word 
was  distinctly  heard.  The  prayers  and  psalm  announce 
ments  were  conducted  by  Mr.  Patterson.  An  exposition  of 
a  psalm  by  Father  Clark  followed,  and  then  Mr.  McMillan 
rose  to  speak.  His  swart  face  in  the  strong  light  wore  a 
sterner  aspect  than  usual.  His  manner,  which  was  gener 
ally  marked  by  a  studied  plainness,  was  somewhat  hurried 
and  excited.  He  seemed  laboring  under  suppressed  feeling, 
which  to  the  keen  ears  of  the  congregation,  who  knew  his 
moods,  was  betrayed  by  the  tones  of  his  voice.  They  were 
looking  for  something  unusual,  and  were  not  disappointed. 

His  text  was:  "Oh,  Israel,  thou  hast  destroyed  thyself; 
but  in  Me  is  thy  trust."  He  began  in  a  low  out  distinct 
voice,  which  at  first  grated  harshly  on  Blanche's  ears,  but 
mellowed  as  the  discourse  proceeded  and  he  warmed  to  his 
work.  He  opened  with  a  somewhat  didactic  description 
of  the  nature  of  sin,  quoting  freely  from  Scripture  and 
the  Westminster  Confession  and  Catechisms.  Then  he 
proceeded  to  the  consequences  of  sin.  As  he  unfolded  the 


144  THE   LATIMERS. 

wrath  of  God  and  the  danger  and  doom  of  the  impenitent, 
his  manner  became  impassioned.  His  language  was  clear, 
earnest  and  thrilling,  though  there  were  no  nights  of 
imagination.  His  huge  form  trembled  with  the  earnest 
ness  of  his  address.  As  he  held  forffh  the  divine  punish 
ment  of  sin,  the  hush  within  the  assemblage  deepened  into 
awesome  stillness.  The  most  hardened  and  irreligious 
quailed  beneath  the  stately  and  fervent  eloquence.  The 
deep,  strong  voice  vibrated  like  low  thunder  through  the 
open  air,  and  echoed  from  the  wooded  slope  of  the  eastern 
hillside  beyond  the  camp.  Again,  as  he  became  absorbed 
in  his  subject,  he  unconscious^  threw  into  particular  words 
and  phrases  a  pathos  and  tenderness  that  made  an  admira 
ble  foil  to  the  stern  and  terrible  outflow  of  his  speech,  and 
added  to  its  effect  upon  feelings  and  imagination. 

The  sermon,  rude  and  massive  as  its  preacher,  strongly 
moved  Blanche  Oldham,  and  the  effect  was  deepened  by  the 
weird  and  novel  surroundings.  The  open  vault  above  was 
spangled  with  stars  that  twinkled  through  the  transparent 
air  with  undimmed  brightness,  or  glimmered  and  winked 
through  the  puffy  vails  of  smoke.  The  flickering  of  the 
torches,  the  play  of  light,  and  the  deep  contrasting  shad 
ows  upon  the  people;  the  preaching  tent  and  the  surround 
ing  trees  gave  weird  effect  to  the  scene.  This  and  the 
strange  influences  of  the  night  in  an  open  forest,  wrought 
strongly  upon  the  maiden's  imagination. 

A  feeling  of  loneliness  and  terror  fell  upon  her,  as  she 
sat  intently  gazing  through  the  shadows  towards  the 
preacher,  whose  form  showed  almost  lurid  in  the  glare  of 
the  pine  knot  fires  on  either  side  of  the  stand.  Quite  un 
conscious  of  the  act,  she  slowly  shrank  towards  John  Lati- 
mer,  who  sat  next  to  her.  She  was  awakened  from  her 
reverie  by  feeling  her  body  press  against  his  arm.  Then, 
starting  away  hastily,  with  cheeks  burning  at  the  thought 
of  what  she  had  done,  she  cast  a  startled  glance  into  John's 
face,  -and  edging  close  to  Fanny,  put  her  arms  about  her. 

"Oh,  I  am  frightened!  What  shall  I  do?"  she  whis 
pered. 

"Be  quiet,  dear!"  said  Fanny,  softly.  "He  is  done  with 
that  part  now.  Surely  you  have  no  need  to  be  concerned 
about  what  he  has  been  saying.  'Who  can  lay  anything 
to  the  charge  of  God's  elect  ?'  Have  you  not  chosen  Christ, 
dear?  And  has  He  not  assured  you  of  His  love  and  pity 
and  full  pardon  of  sin?" 


THE   LATIMERS.  145 

The  maiden  spoke  softly  and  with  true  sympathy ,  as  she 
pressed  her  lips  to  her  friend's  forehead.  But  there  was  a 
strange  twitching  at  her  heart,  withal.  She  had  seen  the 
shrinking  of  Blanche's  unconscious  form,  as  though,  in 
her  alarm,  to  get  near  John's  protecting  arm,  and  had 
noted  the  eager  answer  of  the  young  man's  eye.  "Well; 
there  was  naught  in  such  an  incident,  to  be  sure!  she  re 
flected.  Only,  John — But  what  was  she  thinking  about? 
Her  thoughts  were  wandering  like  the  fool's  eye,  even  from 
the  pastor's  sacred  lesson.  God  forgive  her!  She  would 
turn  again  to  the  sermon!  She  drew  her  arm  about 
Blanche,  who  nestled  closely  against  her  bosom. 

Meanwhile,  Dr.  McMillan  had  begun  the  practical  ap 
plication  of  his  sermon,  having  wrought  his  hearers  into  a 
frame  of  mind  that  might  give  heed  to  duty  and  solemn 
warnings.  He  pointed  out  the  sin  of  unbelief,  the  deep 
tap-root  of  all  evil  behavior,  and  its  enormity  was  set  forth 
with  fitting  vigor.  He  showed  what  unsavory  fruits  had 
sprung  therefrom, — as  Sabbath  desecration,  profanity,  the 
neglect  of  God's  House  and  ordinances,  the  abounding 
greed  and  lust  for  gear  that  robbed  God  of  tithes  and  offer 
ings.  These  were  set  forth  in  clear  and  fearless  terms,  with 
plain,  strong  almost  rude  Saxon  speech.  There  was  no 
mincing  matters,  for  this  backwoods  bishop,  like  the  mar 
tyred  Anglican  bishop  Latimer,  was  wont  to  "call  a  spade 
a  spade." 

All  these  were  old-fashioned  and  familiar  sins.  The 
people  had  heard  their  pastor  descant  upon  them  aforetime, 
and  were  somewhat  inured  thereto.  Therefore,  the  minis 
terial  rebuke  and  warning  were  received  without  apparent 
sensation,  though  with  due  attention  and  solemnity.  Not 
so,  however,  the  particular  sins  which  followed.  Against 
them  the  preacher  launched  forth  the  whole  energy  of  his 
nature,  and  his  full  vocabulary  of  pulpit  denunciation. 
The  novelty  of  the  attack  at  once  stirred  up  the  audience, 
who  showed  those  signs  of  eager  interest  which  one  may 
still  observe  under  like  conditions.  A  fluttering  sound,  as 
of  a  light  wind  among  treetops,  moved  from  bench  to 
bench.  Bowed  and  listless  forms  sprang  suddenly  into 
erect  and  attentive  attitude.  Heads  nodded  or  wagged. 
Faces  grew  radiant  with  smiles,  or  clouded  with  frowns  in 
approval  or  disapproval.  Ever  and  anon  one  would  nudge 
his  neighbor,  and  turn  to  him  with  approving  glances  and 
10 


146  THE   LATIMEKS. 

nods,  as  much  as  to  say:  "Ah,  that  is  good!"  or,  "True, 
true!  I  endorse  it  all."  Another  would  change  his  posi 
tion,  or  stir  uneasily  in  his  seat,  or  cast  hasty  glances  about 
him  as  though  to  gauge  his  fellow  worshippers'  opinions. 
Another  would  droop  his  head  upon  shoulders,  and  shoul 
ders  on  hips,  like  a  closed  opera  glass,  in  an  attitude  of 
sullen  protest.  Indifferent  alike  to  signs  of  approval  or  dis 
approval,  the  stalwart  forest  prophet  spoke  on,  the  voice 
of  another  John,  like  the  baptizer  of  Judea,  crying  in  the 
wilderness,  "Repent,  repent!"  This  is  the  substance  of 
what  he  said: 

He  had  noted  what  seemed  to  him  a  rapid  growth  of 
immoderate  drinking,  especially  among  some  of  the 
younger  men.  No  doubt  this  was  stimulated  by  the  habits 
of  some  of  those  loose  characters,  bred  in  the  heats  of  war 
and  the  license  of  the  camp,  who  were  ever  wont  to  drift; 
to  the  frontiers  of  civilization  where  there  is  less  restraint 
of  law  and  custom.  JSTo  doubt,  also,  the  excitements  of  the 
times,  and  the  craving  for  news  and  discussion  thereof  that 
brought  men  together,  had  wrought  this  evil.  But  however 
it  came,  there  it  was.  Men  gathered  about  the  still-houses, 
neglecting  farms  and  families  and  other  duties.  They  drank 
and  disputed  and  quarreled,  and  then  drank  more  to  patch 
up  a  peace.  Thus  they  were  like  to  fall  into  vagabondage 
and  drunkenness. 

Now,  said  the  preacher,  our  people  have  ever  drunk 
liquors  in  moderation,  as  among  the  good  creatures  of  God 
to  be  received  with  thanksgiving  and  temperately  used. 
But  here  as  elsewhere  the  Scripture  should  be  heeded: 
"Let  your  moderation  be  known  unto  all  men."  He  is  no 
man  who  cannot  control  his  appetites.  He  is  no  Christian 
man  who  neglects  his  duty  for  convivial  drinking.  He  is 
an  apostate,  a  reprobate,  who  allows  the  love  of  strong 
drink  to  grow  into  drunkenness.  Upon  him  falls  the  de 
nunciation  of  God's  Word:  "Who  hath  woe?  who  hath 
sorrow?  who  hath  contentions?  who  hath  babbling?  who 
hath  wounds  without  a  cause?  who  hath  redness  of  eyes? 
They  that  tarry  long  at  the  wine;  they  that  go  to  seek 
mixed  wine.  No  drunkard  shall  enter  into  the  kingdom 
of  Heaven."  These  texts  were  so  much  in  sympathy  with 
Dr.  McMillan's  style,  that  one  might  almost  have  imagined 
the  old  Solomonic  Preacher  of  Ecclesiastes,  or  the  rapt 
Isaiah  standing  there  before  him,  thundering  forth  the 


THE   LATIMEES.  147 

terrible  denunciations  of  Jehovah  upon  the  ancient  inebri 
ates  of  Judea. 

Then  followed  words  of  homely  advice  and  warning  to 
the  young  people  of  the  flock  on  the  social  improprieties  of 
"promiscuous  dancing/'  and  an  offensive  custom  which 
somehow  had  crept  into  the  parish,  known  as  "bundling." 
Thus  the  preacher  came  to  the  climax  of  his  discourse.  As 
he  touched  upon  it  a  deeper  silence  fell,  and  every  auditor 
listened  with  absorbed  attention.  He  had  a  heavy  con 
cern  upon  his  mind  and  a  burden  at  his  heart  which  he 
must  discharge.  He  had  watched  with  anxious  eyes  the 
slow  fomenting  of  the  excitement  over  the  excise  laws 
which  now  agitated  and  disturbed  the  community.  This 
he  deprecated  and  condemned.  It  distracted  attention 
from  lawful  business  and  labor,  from  family  duties,  from 
the  solemn  obligations  of  religion.  His  private  opinions 
had  not  been  concealed,  but  he  had  thus  far  withheld  him 
self  from  public  warning  and  reproof,  hoping  that  the  agi 
tation  would  die  away  without  serious  issue  or  ill  to  any. 
»  Instead  of  subsiding,  the  excitement  grew.  It  threat 
ened  to  breed  not  only  local  riots  but  an  open  outbreak 
against  the  general  government.  Public  officers  had  been 
threatened  and  mishandled;  private  individuals  had  been 
thwarted  by  the  abduction  of  witnesses,  and  citizens  terror 
ized  by  secret  and  open  threats.  The  spirit  and  methods 
of  the  French  Eevolution,  and  its  Jacobin  and  infidel 
authors,  had  been  inaugurated  in  this  Christian  country. 
The  paid  agents  of  France  had  circulated  among  them, 
stirring  up  ill  feeling  and  opposition  to  Washington's  ad 
ministration.  Secret  societies,  fashioned  after  the  Jacobin 
clubs  of  Paris,  had  been  organized  in  their  peaceful  rural 
community.  Armed  insurrection  threatened  to  raise  its 
horrid  front  upon  their  border,  bringing  in  riot,  bloodshed, 
anarchy,  pillage,  lawlessness  and  war. 

He  must  speak  out,  though  all  his  people  should  turn 
against  him.  He  knew  their  burdens,  and  even  their 
wrongs,  and  if  he  could  relieve  them,  gladly  would  he  do 
so,  Got  wot!  But  there  were  lawful  ways  of  redress,  peace 
ful  modes  of  agitation  and  protest  and  opposition.  Riot  and 
rebellion  would  never  right  their  wrongs,  but  would  plunge 
them  into  deeper  waves  of  trouble.  $To  relief  lay  in  that 
direction.  In  the  name  of  God  and  peace  and  duty  and 
their  country,  he  bade  them  pause  and  turn  back  ere  it 
should  be  too  late. 


148  THE    LAT1MERS. 

God  had  set  him  as  a  watchman  for  the  House  of  Israel. 
He  dare  not  hold  his  peace.  If  the  watchman  see  the  sword 
come  and  blow  not  the  trumpet,  and  the  people  be  not 
warned;  if  the  sword  come  and  take  any  person  from  among 
them,,  his  blood  will  the  Lord  require  at  the  watchman's 
hand! 

Here  the  preacher  paused,  and  stretched  out  his  hands 
toward  the  people  who  sat  or  stood  silent  and  attentive  be 
fore  him.  Not  a  soul  moved  in  the  vast  throng.  The  nick 
ering  of  the  torches  could  be  heard,  so  deep  was  the  hush 
upon  the  open  ground.  From  beneath  a  belt  of  striate 
clouds  in  the  eastern  horizon  the  moon  broke  forth  and 
poured  its  light  into  the  open  space.  It  fell  upon  the 
preacher's  tent,  and  brought  out  into  sharper  outline  the 
strong,  tall  form  of  Dr.  McMillan,  who  stood  with  uplifted 
arms  as  in  the  attitude  of  petition.  From  the  woods 
nearby  came  a  whippoorwill's  plaintive  note.  In  the  inten 
sity  of  feeling  pervading  the  audience  every  one  heard  it, 
and  more  than  one  afterwards  confessed,  as  did  Luke  Lati- 
mer,  that  "it  gave  him  the  creeps  to  hear  it;"  for  the  bird 
was  held  as  of  ill  omen,  and  its  whistle  believed  to  portend 
approaching  death.  The  silence  was  broken  by  the  preach 
er's  voice. 

"Oh,  my  people,  hear  the  sound  of  the  trumpet  and  take 
warning  this  day.  Remember  the  doom  of  misguided  Absa 
lom  who  stirred  up  rebellion  against  his  father,  the  king 
and  the  Lord's  anointed.  Dear  to  this  Eepublic,  and  as 
truly  anointed  of  God  as  was  David  of  old,  is  the  great 
and  good  Washington,  the  Father  of  his  Country.  Shall 
we  his  children  strike  at  his  heart,  and  at  that  of  our 
country,  the  cruel  blow  of  insurrection?  God  forbid!1 
Turn  ye,  turn  ye  from  your  evil  ways,  for  why  will  ye  die, 
0  House  of  Israel?" 

Then  followed  a  warning  that  .the  Sacrament  must  be 
denied  to  those  who  took  part  in  riotous  and  rebellious  pro 
ceedings.  God  had  declared  that  rebellion  was  as  the  sin 
of  witchcraft,  and  the  church  must  so  deal  with  it.  The 
powers  that  be  were  ordained  of  God.  They  must  not  be 
resisted,  except  when  tyranny  and  ersecution  and  en 
throned  and  legalized  lawlessness  overwhelmed  natural 
liberty,  and  made  life  intolerable. 

A  closing  psalm  was  sung,  and  the  whole  audience 
arose,  and  reverently  bowing  their  heads,  received  the  pas- 


THE   LATIMEKS.  149 

tor's  benediction,  which  he  gave  with  arms  stretched  forth 
and  open  hands  raised  above  the  people.  Not  the  least 
picturesque  feature  of  the  evening  service  was  this  solemn, 
patriarchal  act  of  "pronouncing  the  blessing/'  The  deep 
hush  that  had  fallen  was  broken  by  the  stir  of  the  great 
congregation  as  it  slowly  dispersed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  SACRAMENT  IX  THE  WOODS. 

Now  began  an  animated  and  anxious,  even  an  angry  dis 
cussion  of  the  sermon.  Those  who  were  encamped  upon 
the  ground  gathered  in  knots,  here  and  there,  before  tent 
doors  or  in  the  light  of  torches,  in  animated  discourse. 
Those  who  had  come  from  the  village  and  neighboring 
plantations,  wended  their  way  by  trails  through  field  and 
forest,  or  over  bypath  and  road  to  the  village.  As  they 
walked  or  rode  they  pressed  together  in  groups,  and  took 
up  the  same  burden  as  their  fellow  worshippers  on  the 
camp  ground.  The  point  whose  interest  absorbed  all  others 
was  the  minister's  utterance  on  the  excise  agitation.  Here 
and  there  a  voice  was  raised  in  approbation,  but  the  over 
whelming  opinion  was  adverse.  The  Latimer  party  re 
turned  by  the  road,  partly  for  variety  of  scenery;  partly 
because  some  of  the  village  folk  had  joined  them,  and  had 
fallen  into  eager  converse  on  the  common  theme,  for  which 
the  broader  way  gave  better  scope  as  the  groups  huddled 
together. 

"My  certie!"  said  Mrs.  Burbeck,  "yon  was  no  hummel- 
corn  discoorse,  at  anny  rate!  There  was  not  a  farmer  on  his 
feet  through  all  the  earvice;  for  there  was  snuff  enough  in 
the  sarmon  to  kape  folk  awake.  An'  what  do  you  think  of 
that,  Andy,  ma  dear?  It  would  be  an  awkert  sitooation  if 
the  Doctor  would  kape  you  back  from  the  Saycramint  for 
incouragin'  rebillion." 

"Thankee,  ma  dear!"  said  Andy.  "That's  not  likely; 
an'  it's  a  long  trail  til  the  onpossible.  But  ye  was  iver 
meetin'  troubles  half  way.  Now  A'm  not  faultin'  the  meen- 
ister  for  hevin'  his  own  opeenions  or  spakin'  out  his  mind. 
But  A'  fault  him  for  a-tryin'  to  father  all  the  sins  of  this 


150  THE    LATIMERS. 

axcise  trouble  onto  our  people.  Now,  it  al'ays  taks  two  to 
mak'  a  quarrel,  and  ginerally  both  are  in  the  wrong  of  it. 
A'  would  jist  like  to  praich  a  sarmon  on  the  other  side  of 
the  quistion,  a-showm'  up  the  sins  of  the  Gover'mint  an' 
the  axeise  officers.  A?d  not  want  for  plinty  of  matter,  at 
laste.  Fair  play,  siz  I,  an'  aven  in  the  poolpit  it's  jist  as 
well  to  give  the  divil  his  due.  The  Doctor's  argyment  the 
daay  was  as  wan  sided  as  a  jug  handle." 

"Do  you  hear  that  now,  Luke  Latimer?"  said  Peggy. 
"Here  is  my  Andy  thinks  he  would  like  to  praich  a  counter 
blast  on  the  axcise!  Bring  hither  gown  an'  bands  for 
Andy  Burbeck,  an7  let  us  all  be  solemn,  an'  hearken  to  our 
bonny  new  parson!  An'  what  text  would  you  choice,  your 
riv'rence?  Mebbe  ye'd  find  one  in  Roomans  Thirteenth, 
somethin'  about  obeyin'  the  powers  that  be,  for  axample?" 

"Well,  now,"  said  Luke  Latimer,  not  relishing  this 
banter,  which  touched  himself  more  than  Andy,  "one 
might  praich  a  very  good  discoorse  from  that  chapter  you 
quote,  Mrs.  Burbeck.  Espeecially  where  we  are  admonished 
that  the  ruler  bears  the  sword  for  the  terror  of  avil  doers 
an'  the  praise  of  thim  that  do  well.  It's  small  trouble 
they'd  be  in  these  coasts  over  the  axcise  if  none  but  avil 
doers  had  to  suffer,  I  dar  be  sworn,  now,  Andy  might  man 
age  to  praich  a  fairish  sarmon  on  the  subjec'  of  onjust 
taxation.  An'  a  fine  text  would  be  'oppression  maketh  a 
wise  man  mad.'  I  would  raccommind  that  to  Mr.  McMillan 
when  he  next  tries  a  poleetical  praichment.  It's  not  a 
releegious  quistion,  as  I  make  it  out;  an'  I'm  not  favorable 
to  bringin'  poleetical  subjec's  intil  the  pulpit.  We've  all 
our  opeenions  of  sich  matters,  an'  the  Doctor  has  his'n. 
But  he  can  nayther  bullyrag  us  nor  threap  us  down  by 
paradin'  his  own  poleetical  views  in  the  garb  of  releegion. 
I'm  not  over  fashous  about  thim  matters,  I  allow;  but  an 
the  Doctor  ast  me,  I'd  'a  ventured  to  say  that  he  could  've 
intertained  us  with  a  more  agrayable  as  well  as  more  prof 
itable  subjec'  for  his  ante-communion  discoorse." 

Would  the  minister  venture  on  the  morrow  to  "fence 
the  table"  against  those  who  had  been  taking  an  active 
part  in  opposition  to  the  excise  laws  and  officers?  That  was 
the  question  which  continually  recurred,  and  quite  pushed 
aside  all  consideration  of  the  civil  and  religious  principle 
at  issue.  As  a  large  and  respectable  part  of  the  congrega 
tion  were  more  or  less  incriminated  in  sundry  offences, 


THE   LATIMERS.  151 

there  was  a  deep  undertow  of  feeling,  which  showed  in 
strong  currents  of  protesting  and  murmuring  speech. 

The  young  folks,  little  disturbed  by  the  discussion  of 
their  seniors,  strolled  along  the  road,  stopping  at  times  to 
view  the  fair  scenery.  At  the  forks  of  the  road  near  the 
church  they  lingered  long,  while  Blanche  looked  south 
ward  and  westward  at  the  hills  that  rolled  away,  range 
beyond  range,  until  lost  in  the  distance  where  the  stars  in 
the  night  horizon  touched  their  wooded  tops.  Over  all, 
the  moonlight  laid  its  silver  glory,  save  where  the  shadows 
of  the  forest  trees  stretched  their  pall  into  the  edges  of  the 
settlers'  clearings.  A  fair  prospect  this,  then  and  now, 
whether  by  day  or  night.  Further  down  the  road  the  view 
lay  north  and  east  along  the  sinuous  valley  of  the  Chartiers, 
on  whose  waters  the  moonlight  quivered  where  the  trees 
did  not  embower  it.  Yonder,  two  miles  away,  on  the  slope 
of  its  hill,  looking  westward  and  toward  the  stream,  stood 
the  Morgan  mansion,  its  roof  aglow  with  the  moon's  re 
flected  rays.  And  there  you  may  see  parts  of  it  to-day,  if 
you  will;  and  the  spot  where  the  Eevolutionary  veteran, 
the  master  of  Morganza,  had  his  grave  made  just  back  of 
the  house. 

Sabbath  morning  dawned  lustrous  and  soft,  with  a  beauty 
in  air  and  sky  and  on  the  earth  and  forests  seen  only  in 
American  woodland  landscapes  in  October.  The  parti 
colored  leaves  checkered  the  wood  foliage  with  yellow,  rus 
set,  brown  and  red.  Among  the  shrubs,  the  sumac's  lance- 
like  leaves  flared  their  bright  scarlet  points  against  the 
green.  From  every  quarter  and  for  miles  around,  the  wor 
shippers  were  seen  wending  their  way  on  horseback  and  on 
foot  toward  the  sanctuary  on  the  hill.  By  ten  o'clock  the 
rude  seats  in  the  grove  were  filled  with  a  devout  congrega 
tion.  Many  of  the  young  folk,  ay,  and  their  elders  too,  had 
walked  long  journeys  barefoot;  and,  as  they  neared  the 
meeting  ground,  stopped  and  drew  on  stockings  and  shoes 
that  thus  far  they  had  carried  in  their  hands.  They  wished 
to  come  to  the  meeting  in  seemly  garb,  but  leathern  foot 
gear  was  a  heavy  charge  on  their  small  earnings,  and  must 
be  sparingly  used. 

Within  the  church  the  pastor  and  elders  were  met  "in 
session"  to  distribute  sacramental  tokens  to  late  comers; 
and  out  of  the  door  dribbled  a  thin  and  ever-narrowing 
stream  of  communicants.  At  length,  the  last  applicant 


152  THE    LATIMERS. 

had  been  served.  Now  the  ministers  issued  from  the 
church,  followed  by  the  elders  walking  two  by  two,  and 
carrying  the  vessels  containing  the  sacred  elements  for  the 
holy  feast.  Gravely  they  threaded  the  path  around  the 
churchyard  cemetery,  towards  the  camp  where  the  peopie 
waited  in  solemn  silence. 

In  front  of  the  preacher's  tent,  the  soil  had  been  thrown 
up  into  a  long  heap  of  rectangular  shape,  looking  like  the 
ancient  Israelitish  altar  of  earth,  upon  whose  sodded  top 
hewn  clapboards  were  laid,  and  all  overspread  with  cloths 
of  snowy  linen.  Hereon  the  elders  laid  the  flagons  and 
cups,  and  the  patens  with  their  spotless  napkins  on  which 
lay  the  sacramental  bread.  This  was  in  long  unleavened 
rolls  whose  whiteness  was  necked  with  spots  of  russet 
brown. 

Down  the  central  aisle  and  across  the  open  space  In 
front  of  the  communion  table  had  been  placed  long  narrow 
tables  of  hewn  logs,  with  rude  benches  such  as  served  the 
worshippers  for  seats  set  on  either  side.  These  tables  were 
covered  with  linen  cloths,  all  woven  and  bleached  and 
washed  into  spotless  whiteness,  and  ironed  with  loving 
devoutness,  and  spread  in  their  due  place  by  the  women 
pioneers  themselves.  It  never  occurred  to  them  to  think 
of  themselves  as  such,  yet  surely  these  were  veritable  dea 
conesses  of  the  Church  in  the  Wilderness. 

In  all  this  there  was  no  aiming  at  effect  and  no  sus 
picion  of  picturesqueness.  But  the  event,  so  simple,  so  un 
affected,  was  athrob  with  that  truest  life  of  human  souls 
which  has  lifted  man  in  all  ages  above  the  beasts  around 
him — religion.  The  arena  thereof  was  hemmed  in  by 
mighty  forests  and  everlasting  hills,  and  roofed  by  the  blue 
dome  of  heaven  lambent  and  vital  with  the  light  of 
autumnal  days.  An  eagle  slowly  soared  in  rising  circles 
above  the  worshipping  throng.  Birds  whistled  end  trilled 
in  the  trees,  and  afar  off  a  wood-dove's  mournful  cooing 
was  heard.  Blanche  Oldham  was  moved  with  a  sense  not 
only  of  the  grandeur,  but  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  A  true 
artist,  a  da  Vinci  for  example,  had  he  stood  at  her  side, 
would  have  caught  its  spirit,  and  might  have  wrought 
another  Holy  Supper  piece  for  the  world  to  admire.  What 
can  our  poets  and  artists  be  about,  that  they  wander  into 
all  lands  and  ages  after  themes,  while  events  in  American 
life  and  history  such  as  these  are  neglected,  and  even 
unknown? 


THE   LATIMERS.  153 

The  day's  worship  began  with  a  solemn  invocation,  dur 
ing  which  they  all  reverently  stood.  Then  was  sung  a 
psalm,  led  by  the  precentor  from  a  narrow  desk  just  in 
front  of  the  preachers'  tent,  but  on  a  lower  level.  The 
Gospel  followed,  giving  an  account  of  the  institution  of  the 
Lord's  Supper,  and  the  authority  for  observing  the  same 
''until  He  come/'  Tljis  was  read  by  Father  Clark,  who 
with  touching  pathos  that  melted  all  hearts,  commented 
upon  and  pointed  out  the  meaning  of  the  Lord's  words. 

Then  another  psalm,  and  Dr.  McMillan  rose  to  preach 
the  "Action  sermon."  At  this  a  sigh  of  relief  was  heard, 
especially  in  the  furthest  parts  of  the  audience,  where  were 
gathered  the  hottest  opponents  of  the  excise,  and  those 
most  chargeable  with  overt  acts.  They  had  gone  there, 
suspicious  to  the  last  that  they  might  be  debarred  from  the 
Sacrament  (though  most  of  them  had  their  tokens),  and 
not  caring  to  be  conspicuous  in  that  case.  They  nudged 
one  another's  elbows,  and  looked  to  this  side  and  that  with 
well  satisfied  faces  and  nodding  heads. 

"Ay,  we  will  not  be  shut  out  the  day!"  whispered  Luke 
Latimer  to  his  next  neighbor,  Col.  John  Canon.  "The 
Doctor  kapes  to  the  Action  sarmon,  and  Mr.  Patterson 
will  fence  the  tables.  That  manes  a  sight  more  liberty  in 
comin'  for'ard,  and  lower  fences  for  the  erring,  or  I'm  a 
long  ways  oft'  the  trail." 

The  'people  had  truly  judged.  The  pastor  had  not  even 
seriously  thought  of  debarring  any  on  that  occasion.  His 
Saturday  sermon  was  a  warning  blast  of  the  trumpet,  that 
the  people  might  know  what  awaited  them  should  they  per 
sist  in  the  proscribed  wray.  The  one  brooding  cloud  had 
now  passed  from  the  scene,  and  thenceforth  all  was  serene, 
and  sweet,  and  full  of  high  and  holy  pleasure  to  those  forest 
worshippers  of  the  Father  in  Heaven  and  followers  of 
Christ. 

The  preacher's  subject  was  the  Sodality  of  the  Heavenly 
Graces:  "Now  abideth  Faith,  Hope,  Charity,  these  three, 
but  the  greatest  of  these  is  Charity."  One  discouraged 
soul  that  heard  it,  gave  his  own  experience  of  it  as  follows: 
"He  first  treated  of  Faith,  and  when  he  had  done  defining 
and  limiting  it,  I  was  in  a  despondent  mood,  and  could  not 
see  that  I  had  that  grace.  Then  he  took  up  Hope,  and 
after  he  had  dealt  with  that  fully,  I  greatly  doubted  if  I 
had  that  grace  either.  Then  the  Doctor  took  up  Charity, 


154  THE   LATIMEKS. 

which  he  defined  as  love  to  God  and  love  to  others.  As 
he  went  on  in  his  exhibit  of  that  grace,  I  began  to  have  a 
bit  of  comfort,  for  I  felt  that  I  did  have  that.  Then  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  of  all,  and  said  'now,  if  you  can  feel 
in  your  heart, and  perceive  by  a  candid  self-examination  that 
you  have  any  one  of  these  graces,  you  may  know  that  you 
have  all  the  rest,  for  they  are  never  alone.'  Then  my  heart 
leaped  up,  and  a  holy  peace  and  gladness  came  to  me  that 
I  had  never  known  before.  Though  I  had  doubted  if,  as 
an  ungrounded  and  graceless  professor,  I  might  come  to 
the  Supper,  I  now  saw  the  way  clear,  and  went  forward 
with  the  rest.  The  pastor's  closing  words  kept  coming  to 
me  again,  and  again,  and  rang  up  within  me  the  sweetest 
sentiments.  'The  three  sister  graces  always  dwell  together. 
If  you  have  one,  you  must  have  the  rest,  for  they  are  never 
found  alone  !' ' 

The  Action  sermon  was  followed  by  a  psalm;  and  then 
Mr.  Patterson  arose  for  the  function  known  as  "fencing  the 
tables."  With  many  ministers  of  that  time  this  was  a  tedi 
ous  office,  sometimes  occupying  an  hour  or  more.  All  the 
sins  forbidden  in  the  Ten  Commandments  were  passed  in 
review,  with  all  the  outshoots  therefrom  detailed  in  the 
Shorter  Catechism.  One  profane  wit  remarked  that  the 
preacher  never  stopped  till  he  had  solemnly  debarred  from 
the  ordinance  every  one  of  his  people,  and  himself  to  boot! 
But  Dr.  McMillan  was  not  favorable  to  undue  length  in 
preaching,  and  had  a  favorite  saying  that  "he  never  knew 
a  conversion  to  be  made  beyond  the  hour."  Mr.  Patterson 
was  of  the  same  opinion;  and  especially  in  fencing  the 
tables  leaned  to  mercy's  side,  and  was  content  with  a  half 
hour's  address. 

Next  was  announced  a  psalm,  and  the  invitation  was 
given  to  the  first  table.  While  the  people  sang,  the  fami 
lies  of  the  ministers  and  elders,  and  the  older  members  of 
the  congregation  and  their  families,  arose  and  filed  by 
households  into  the  aisle,  and  took  their  places  at  the  long 
tables,  and  sat  with  heads  bowed  above  the  board.  When 
the  singing  ceased,  the  elders  arose  from  the  bench  at  the 
side  of  the  preachers'  tent,  and  passing  along  the  tables, 
thrust  an  open  palm  before  the  communicants  in  turn,  who 
dropped  therein  their  tokens  in  evidence  of  right  to  be  at 
the  Sacrament.  Meanwhile,  the  congregation  sat  in  silence, 
not  a  sound  breaking  the  stillness  but  the  dull  thud  of  the 


THE   LATIMEES.  155 

elder's  feet  as  they  slowly  passed  from  person  to  person, 
and  the  muffled  click  of  the  metal  tokens  as  they  fell  into 
the  outstretched  palms. 

This  service  done,  the  elders  returned  to  their  places. 
Then  two  of  them  lifted  from  the  vessels  containing  the 
bread  and  wine  the  cloth  that  had  covered  the  table  during 
the  foregoing  service.  Next  the  minister  offered  the  euchar- 
istic  prayer,  and  set  apart  the  elements  from  their  secular 
to  their  sacred  use,  touching  with  his  hands  the  patens  and 
cups  as  he  pronounced  the  words  of  consecration.  This 
done,  the  elders  stood  up  before  the  communion  table  to 
receive  the  bread,  and  thence  dispersed  to  the  various 
tables,  each  with  a  paten  in  hand.  This  they  placed  on  the 
table  between  the  communicants  seated  on  either  side,  who 
broke  off  with  their  own  hands  a  morsel  of  bread.  Then 
the  elders  moved  the  plate  along  the  cloth  to  the  next,  and 
so  on  until  all  were  served.  The  elders  who  had  served 
their  sections,  stood  in  silent  waiting  at  the  furthest  end 
of  the  aisles  until  their  fellows  were  all  done.  Then  they 
walked  down  the  aisles  together,  two  by  two,  and  returned 
the  patens  to  the  communion  table,  a  most  solemn  and 
impressive  procession.  Meanwhile,  however,  the  senior 
elder  had  given  the  bread  to  the  ministers  also. 

Then  Father  Clark  made  an  address  to  the  communi 
cants  in  administering  the  cup,  which  was  handed  about  in 
the  same  manner  as  the  bread.  After  this  a  psalm  was 
sung,  and  during  the  singing  those  at  the  table  retired, 
while  others  took  the  vacated  seats.  There  was  stir  and 
movement  in  the  congregation,  of  course,  during  these 
changes,  but  no  sign  of  confusion.  The  utmost  decorum 
and  reverence  prevailed;  and  those  who  did  not  commune 
looked  on  with  solemn  mien,  and  no  doubt  often  with  seri 
ous  reflections.  Thus  table  after  table  was  served,  follow 
ing  the  same  simple  ritual,  but  with  ever-varying  incident 
according  to  the  manner  of  the  officiating  clergyman,  until 
the  number  of  empty  seats  before  the  sacred  board  showed 
that  no  more  remained  to  come. 

"This  will  be  the  last  table,"  said  Dr.  McMillan.  "If 
there  are  any  others  who  wish  to  commune,  let  them  now 
come  forward." 

A  few  stragglers,  timid  Faint-hearts,  for  the  most  part, 
who  had  held  back  to  the  last  in  conflict  of  hope  and  fear, 
now,  with  nervous  haste  or  hesitating  steps,  slipped  into 


156  THE   LATIMERS. 

some  of  the  vacant  seats,  and  the  last  administration  pro 
ceeded.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  service 
closed,  yet  were  the  people  not  weary.  Few  left  the  meet 
ing  save  those  who  were  compelled  to  do  so,  and  they 
mostly  mothers  whose  children  demanded  their  care. 

It  was  a  scene  that  Blanche  long  remembered.  She 
returned  home  by  the  hill  path,  escorted  by  Lieut.  Burd 
who  had  come  to  the  Sacrament  with  Mrs.  Morgan,  and 
Fanny  McCormack  and  John  Latimer  walking  close  at 
hand.  The  solemnities  of  the  service  and  the  beauty  of  the 
day  wrought  in  her  heart  a  holy  pleasure  and  quiet,  which 
seemed  to  the  maiden,  in  the  religious  fervor  of  the  hour, 
a  foretaste  of  the  Eternal  Day  and  the  Marriage  Supper  of 
the  Lamb.  Who  would  have  thought  that  over  these  peace 
ful  scenes  should  soon  drift  and  beat  the  passions  of  riot, 
and  the  terrors  of  war  and  rumors  of  wars? 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  SHOOTING  MATCH  AT  LEGIONVILLE. 

John  Latimer  made  up  a  small  party  to  attend  the 
Legionville  shooting  match.  Blanche  Oldham,  in  whose 
honor  the  excursion  was  planned,  was  eager  to  accept,  pro 
vided  her  aunt  would  go  with  her  to  matronize.  That  duty 
Mrs.  Morgan  willingly  undertook,  for  the  occasion  was  a 
notable  one,  and  would  pleasantly  break  the  monotony  of 
frontier  life.  Legionville  was  an  encampment  made  for 
the  troops  which  Gen.  Wayne  was  gathering  at  tne  forks  of 
the  Ohio  for  the  South  Western  expedition  against  the 
hostile  Indians.  When  Washington's  government  deter 
mined  to  check  the  inroads  of  savages  upon  the  settlers, 
and  vindicate  the  white  warrior's  prestige,  so  far  fallen  by 
the  unfortunate  expeditions  of  St.  Clair  and  Ilarmer,  the 
hero  of  Stony  Point  had  been  put  in  command.  No  man 
was  more  popular  among  both  western  frontiersmen  and 
eastern  soldiers,  and  there  was  full  confidence  in  his  ability 
to  defeat  the  Indians.  Yet  recruiting  went  on  slowly,  and 
Wayne  was  sorely  tried  and  well  nigh  disheartened. 

At  last,  enough  of  an  army  had  assembled  to  justify 
hopes  of  success.  But  the  surroundings  of  Pittsburg  were 


THE   LATIMERS.  157 

not  favorable  to  discipline  and  drill.  Wayne  chose  a  site 
for  a  camp  about  twenty  miles  below  the  forks  of  the  river, 
nearby  a  settlement  known  as  Logtown,  which  stood  upon 
or  near  the  present  site  of  the  town  of  Economy.  Thither 
he  marched  his  troops  and  established  them  in  winter 
quarters.  Log  huts  were  built  from  the  forest  that  cov 
ered  the  hills, -and  these  were  laid  out  in  regular  streets  in 
good  military  fashion.  The  commander  named  his  tempo 
rary  settlement  "Legionville,"  because  "The  Legion  of  the 
United  States,"  as,  with  a  touch  of  classical  affectation  he 
called  his  army,  was  there  to  be  trained  for  service.  Well- 
marked  remnants  of  the  camp  were  to  be  seen  as  late  as  the 
middle  of  this  century,  such  as  the  burned  and  blackened 
stones  built  into  chimneys  and  fireplaces.  These,  with 
other  debris,  enabled  one  to  mark  out  quite  readily  the 
course  of  the  streets  and  sites  of  the  huts.  Even  now  traces 
of  the  alignment  of  the  cabins  and  trenches  may  be  ob 
served. 

In  order  to  quicken  ambition  and  to  promote  the  pro 
ficiency  of  his  recruits  in  markmanship,  Gen.  Wayne  ap 
pointed  a  rifle  tournament,  or,  in  the  less  stately  ver 
nacular,  a  "Shooting  Match."  Prizes  were  offered  for  the 
best  marksman  among  the  troops,  and  several  lesser  prizes 
for  inferior  grades  of  skill.  Further,  a  prize  was  offered 
for  the  best  marksman  of  all  comers,  troops  and  pioneers 
alike,  including  hunters  and  scouts.  The  need  for  such  an 
expedient  to  promote  skill  in  rifle  practice  was  far  greater 
than  modern  folk  suppose.  Many  settlers  had  small 
knowledge  of  firearms.  Immigrants  from  Ulster  had  no 
practice  in  shooting  in  the  old  country.  Even  Eevolu- 
tionary  veterans  knew  only  the  musket,  and  required  to  be 
trained  to  use  the  rifle  after  the  methods  of  Indian  warfare. 
The  skill  in  rifle  shooting  which  tradition  rightly  assigns 
the  frontiersmen,  was  largely  confined  to  hunters  and  trap 
pers  who  had  been  born  on  American  soil,  and  had  drifted 
westward  and  northward  from  eastern  and  southern  colo 
nies.  But  the  Ulstermen  were  not  sluggish  pupils.  Many 
of  them  soon  became  handy  enough  with  the  long  and 
graceful  rifled  tool  that  pioneers  delighted  in. 

Far  and  wide  the  news  of  the  match  had  gone.  No 
tournament  of  knights  ever  awakened  deeper  interest  in  the 
days  of  chivalry  than  did  this  trial  of  skill  in  that  weapon 
upon  which  American  pioneers  depended  for  food  and 


158  THE    LATIMEKS. 

safety.  In  all  seasons  it  guaranteed  to  their  larder  a  tooth 
some  supply  of  the  edible  game  of  the  forest.  Against  wild 
beasts  and  more  savage  men,  it  was  their  weapon  of  defense 
and  offence.  The  crack  of  the  pioneer's  rifle  was  the  first 
herald  cry  of  coming  civilization. 

Thus,  with  eager  interest,  from  all  parts  of  the  frontier 
the  settlers  thronged  to  Legionville.  They  came  by  boat 
and  canoe,  afoot  and  on  horseback,  by  forest  trail  and  over 
the  rude  roadway  that  the  troops  had  cut  from  Pittsburg. 
Among  these  excursionists  was  our  company  from  Canons- 
burg.  A  pleasant  afternoon's  ride  ahorseback  brought  them 
to  the  hamlet  that  had  grown  up  around  the  trading  post 
of  the  Frenchman  Pierre  Chartiers,  located  at  the  junction 
with  the  Ohio  River  of  the  stream  which  still  bears  the  old 
trader's  name.  This  was  the  site  of  the  Indian  town  of 
King  Shingis  before  the  incoming  tide  of  white  settlers  had 
bidden  the  red  man  move  on.  The  free  hospitality  of  the 
frontier  gave  hearty  welcome  for  the  night,  and  it  was  a 
merry  company  that  John  received  on  board  his  keel  boat 
in  the  early  morning. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  boat  touched  at  the  mouth  of 
Legionville  Run.  That  creek  flows  into  the  Ohio  through 
a  narrow  bottomland,  then  bordered  on  either  side  by 
wooded  ridges,  and  which  narrows,  as  one  ascends  the  run, 
by  a  gradual  approach  of  the  hills.  At  a  point  one-third  of 
a  mile  from  the  river  where  the  hills  nearly  approach,  and 
on  the  western  side  of  the  run,  the  military  city  was  built. 
The  shooting  match  was  to  be  held  upon  the  triangular 
plain  that  formed  the  parade  ground  on  which  the  troops 
were  exercised.  The  discipline  of  the  camp  was  for  the 
day  relaxed.  Friends,  settlers,  planters,  citizens  from  Pitts- 
burg,  officers  from  Fort  Pitt,  hunters  in  their  picturesque 
garb,  a  few  friendly  Indians  standing  in  silent  groups,  were 
commingled  with  the  soldiers  and  officers  of  the  Legion. 
Flags  fluttering  from  the  headquarters  tent;  horses  pick 
eted  in  the  engirdling  forest;  leaves  already  bright  with 
autumn  hues,  the  camp  with  its  streets  and  log  houses  and 
tents  showing  white  against  tliB  green  of  the  hills,  and 
above  all  the,  crowds  of  eager  and  anxious  people  surround 
ing  the  parade  ground,  made  up  a  unique  picture  of  fron 
tier  life,  and  as  picturesque  as  novel. 

The  morning  was  spent  in  the  competitive  shooting 
arranged  for  the  troops,  and  in  the  general  trial  at  which 


THE    LATIMERS.  159 

all  comers,  whether  soldier  or  civilian,  gave  proof  of  their 
skill.  Then,  after  due  time  for  nooning,  and  a  merry 
lunching  hour,  the  bugle  once  more  summoned  to  the  field. 
The  final  decision  was  now  to  be  made,  and  the  issue  had 
narrowed  down  to  six  persons.  This  fact,  together  with 
the  wide  notoriety  of  some  of  those  concerned,  vastly 
heightened  the  popnUr  interest.  Excitement  ran  high. 
Parties,  as  is  wont,  were  divided  more  by  the  line  of  per 
sonal  or  local  sympathies  than  by  the  merits  of  the  several 
contestants.  Lieut.  Burd,  of  the  Fort  Pitt  garrison,  was 
one  of  the  six,  and  the  army  officers  and  a  large  portion 
of  the  troops  adopted  him  as  their  special  champion,  and 
loudly  cheered  him  as  he  stepped  forth.  He  wore  the 
undress  uniform  of  an  officer  of  that  period,  which  is  dis 
tinguished  by  this  generation  as  the  "Continental  buff 
and  blue." 

John  Latimer  was  the  favorite  of  the  settlers  through 
out  the  whole  surrounding  region,  where  he  was  well 
known  as  a  skillful  waterman  and  prime  shot.  Loud  cheers 
greeted  him  as  his  name  was  called  by  the  Adjutant  and 
he  took  his  place  beside  Lieut.  Burd.  He  wore  the  uniform 
coat  of  the  Chartiers  Eiflemen,  the  company  of  young 
militiamen  of  which  he  was  captain,  which  was  a  green 
hunting  shirt  and  cape  with  orange  edging  and  fringes. 
His  shapely  limbs  were  clad  in  buckskin  wrought  into 
shape  by  the  Pittsburg  "Breeches  Maker  and  Skin  Dresser" 
instead  of  the  usual  leggings,  and  in  ribbed  woolen  stock 
ings,  his  mother's  handiwork.  His  feet  were  shod  with 
high  moccasins  prettily  beaded  along  the  outside,  the  gift 
of  his  friend  Featherfoot.  Pouch  and  powder  horn  were 
slung  across  his  breast  by  a  broad  baldric  beaded  like  the 
moccasins  and  by  the  same  hand.  He  wore  a  soft  wool  hat 
cocked  up  on  one  side  by  a  silver  clasp  which  held  a  buck- 
tail  plume.  Beneath  the  hat  his  long  curling  chestnut 
locks  freely  hung,  unmolested  by  ribbon  or  queue. 

Then  came  Eobert  McClellan,  the  famous  scout,  surg 
ing  forward  with  long  lope  into  place.  He  stood  leaning 
upon  his  rifle  with  a  careless  air  as  if  little  interested  in 
the  issue  which,  as  he  justly  conceived,  was  already  settled 
as  far  as  the  first  premium  was  concerned.  He  wore  the 
regulation  frontier  dress,  in  pattern  quite  like  John  Lati- 
mer's,  but  of  plainer  material  and  rudely  cut.  The  coat 
was  m,ade  from  a  Government  blanket,  a  fashion  which 


160  THE    LATIMERS. 

was  not  uncommon  at  that  period,  and  from  which,  no 
doubt,  by  an  easy  and  natural  evolution,  have  come  the 
parti-colored  blanket  coats  to  which  the  lumbermen  of 
the  Northwest  are  so  partial.  His  breeches  and  moccasins 
of  deer-skin  were  fastened  with  thongs.  He  had  a  well- 
worn  pouch  and  powder  horn,  and  a  coon-skin  with  the 
long  tail  of  the  animal  dangling  behind  to  his  shoulders. 
The  only  approach  at  ornament  was  a  fringe  of  otter  fur 
upon  his  coat  and  cape,  and  a  beautiful  beaded  belt  which 
carried  his  knife  and  tomahawk. 

The  fourth  contestant  was  Morton  Sheldon,  a  young 
Connecticut  pioneer.  He  was  tall,  thin,  angular,  straight 
as  an  Indian,  and  with  high  cheek  bones,  black  eyes  and 
tawny  skin.  He  was  a  good  example  of  the  type  that  has 
led  some  folk  to  fancy  a  resemblance  between  New  England 
scions  of  the  Puritans,  and  the  aborigines  of  the  soil,  a 
product,  they  say,  of  climatic  environment.  Although 
only  five  or  six  years  John  Latimer's  senior,  he  had  taken 
part  in  the  closing  scenes  of  the  war  for  Independence. 
He  wore  a  light  blue  camelot  coat  and  buff  waistcoat,  with 
belt,  pouch  and  powder  horn,  and  moccasins  as  any  other 
hunter.  His  gray  woolen  cap  was  a  cross  between  the 
cocked  hat,  the  fashion  of  the  day,  and  the  old-fashioned 
Puritan  peaked  hat.  The  brim  was  turned  up  on  one  side 
and  clasped  with  a  rosette  of  red,  white  and  blue,  which 
under  all  circumstances,  whether  hunting,  scouting  or  visit 
ing,  at  home,  church  or  frolic,  he  insisted  on  wearing.  He 
was  thoroughly  trusted  by  all  who  knew  him,  and  especially 
by  Gen.  Wayne,  who  had  found  him  an  efficient  scout.  He 
was  well  liked  by  his  friends  and  associates,  among  whom 
with  equal  regard  for  his  steadiness  of  character  and  his 
partiality  for  the  national  cockade,  he  was  known  as  "Old 
Tricolor." 

Panther,  the  Mingo  scout,  was  next  called,  and  joined 
the  little  circle  before  the  pavilion,  his  Indian  presence  and 
accoutrements  adding  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the  group. 

One  more  name  remained,  and  there  was  much  laughter 
intermingled  with  cheers  of  the  crowd  as  the  Adjutant 
announced  it.  The  person  who  responded  was  somewhat 
below  the  medium  height  of  men;  was  clad  in  the  conven 
tional  dress  of  the  western  hunter,  except  that  the  hunting 
shirt  or  tunic  was  longer  than  usual,  and  hung  below  the 
knees.  The  cheeks  were  swarthy  and  wide  at  the  high 


THE    LATIMERS.  161 

cheek  bones,  the  eyes  blue,  the  light  brown  hair  was  worn 
in  a  long  braided  queue  tied  with  a  bright  red  ribbon.  The 
coon-skin  cap  had  a  tuft  of  heron  feathers  fastened  upon 
one  side  with  a  broad  silver  clasp.  Long-shanked  mocca 
sins  completed  the  outfit,  which,  as  well  as  the  hunting 
shirt,  were  tricked  off  with  beaded  ornaments  somewhat 
in  the  fashion  of  an  Indian  squaw,  whom,  indeed,  the  figure 
more  resembled  than  a  white  hunter.  But  the  easy  manner 
in  which  the  rifle  was  borne,  showing  perfect  familiarity 
with  the  weapon,  and  the  masculine  step  with  which  the 
person  strode  to  the  front,  showed  that  no  novice  in  wood 
craft  was  there. 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Blanche,  as  the  people  continued 
to  shout  in  a  fashion  that  savored  quite  as  much  of  merri 
ment  as  of  approval. 

"Who  is  he?"  echoed  Fanny.  "Who  is  she,  you  should 
rather  say.  That  is  Mad  Ann  Trotter." 

"What!  Is  that  really  a  woman?"  For  better  view 
Blanche  rose  from  the  seat  near  the  pavilion  front  to  which 
the  ladies  had  been  assigned  by  courtesy  of  General  Wayne. 
The  huntress  quietly  leaned  upon  her  rifle,  apparently  un 
disturbed  either  by  the  chaff  and  cheers  of  the  populace, 
or  by  the  presence  of  the  General  and  his  staff  and  other 
prominent  people  before  her.  A  slight  flush  darkened  her 
brown  skin,  and  her  blue  eyes  kindled,  and  then  relapsed 
into  that  cold  and  stony  seeming  which  one  notes  at  times 
in  people  of  Anglo-Saxon  blood.  Otherwise  she  stood 
motionless  until  the  clamor  ceased. 

"Pray  tell  me  who  is  this  strange  creature?"  Blanche 
asked.  "She  looks  masculine  enough  to  be  a  scout,  no 
doubt.  But  it  is  a  pleasant  face  after  all,  and  not  un 
womanly  when  one  comes  to  study  it.  I  like  it  well. 
Surely  she  cannot  be  crazy,  as  you  intimate?" 

Fanny  smiled  and  nodded  assent  to  Blanche's  analysis. 
"I  am  not  sure  that  she  gives  any  better  cause  for  being 
called  'Mad  Ann'  than  that  she  chooses  to  don  this  man 
nish  attire,  and  affects  manly  sports  and  actions.  But  she 
has  the  reputation  of  having  an  unbalanced  mind,  and  so 
people  let  her  have  her  own  way.  Whether  a  natural  or 
a  fanatic,  I  cannot  tell;  but  she  is  harmless  enough,  and  an 
attractive  character,  at  least  to  many  of  us.  She  loves  the 
woods,  is  an  adept  in  woodcraft,  is  a  fearless  and  successful 
hunter  both  of  game  and  Indians,  and  one  of  the  best 
11 


162  THE    LATIMERS. 

shots  on  the  frontier.  Her  story  is  a  sad  and  indeed 
romantic  one,  not  uncommon  on  our  border  so  far  as  men 
are  concerned,  but  rarely  if  ever  having  one  of  our  own  sex 
as  the  heroine.  Her  maiden  name  I  have  been  told  was 
Hennis.  She  is  English  by  birth,  having  emigrated  ffom 
Liverpool  with  her  husband,  Richard  Trotter,  who  was  a 
volunteer  in  Dunmore's  War  of  1774.  He  fell  fighting  at 
the  bloody  Indian  battle  of  Point  Pleasant,  and  from  that 
period  Ann  became  possessed  with  a  savage  spirit  of  re 
venge  against  the  Indians.  She  forsook  her  housework, 
and  began  practising  with  the  rifle  and  at  throwing  the 
tomahawk.  Thence  she  went  into  the  forests  hunting  wild 
game  until  she  became  an  expert  shot.  As  she  grew 
familiar  with  the  rifle,  she  would  ride  about  the  country 
to  every  muster  of  scouts  or  hunters.  She  discarded  female 
attire  and,  as  you  see,  her  common  dress  differs  little  in 
style  from  that  of  the  ordinary  scout.  Her  rifle  is  her  con 
stant  companion,  and  she  has  frequently  carried  off  prizes 
at  shooting  matches.  But  she  is  not  likely  to  fare  so  well 
to-day,  for  she  will  be  pitted  against  the  best  rifles  of  the 
border.  Most  of  her  time  she  spends  scouring  the  woods, 
so  that  she  has  become  as  skilled  a  forester  as  any  of  our 
best  guides.  She  loves  nothing  better  than  to  follow  an 
Indian  trail,  and  many  is  the  savage  who  has  fallen  before 
her  fatal  weapon." 

"See!"  exclaimed  Blanche.  "Something  has  happened 
that  ill  pleases  Ann.  Look  how  she  flushes  up,  and  pulls 
down  her  brows,  and  glowers  at  someone  in  the  company 
before  the  General.  What  can  be  the  matter?  Ah!  there 
is  some  trouble  among  the  contestants.  Lieutenant  Burd 
is  speaking  to  Gen.  Wayne  with  no  good  temper,  it  would 
seem.  Hist!  We  must  hear  what  is  going  on." 

"No  man  wishes  to  contend  with  a  woman  at  any  time," 
said  Lieut.  Burd,  "much  less  at  a  public  tournament.  It 
never  occurred  to  me  that  any  but  men  would  enter  the 
lists,  or  I  should  not  have  been  here.  I  trust  your  Excel 
lency  will  not  permit  this  person  to  compete  with  us?" 

"But  you  made  no  objection  when  the  lady  shot  in  the 
general  trials,"  said  Wayne.  "You  should  have  urged  your 
remonstrances  then." 

"True,"  was  the  answer.  "But  I  did  not  think  you  or 
any  one  else  took  seriously  the  woman's  appearance  at  that 
time.  I  thought  it  had  been  tolerated  simply  for  the 


THE    LATIMERS.  163 

entertainment  of  the  people,  and  would  not  have  done  the 
Commander  the  injustice  to  suppose  that  so  grotesque  a 
figure  could  be  permitted  a  serious  part  in  the  final  contest. 
It  would  surely  detract  from  the  dignity  and  value  of  the 
occasion." 

Gen.  Wayne  hesitated.  The  Adjutant  fumbled  with 
his  papers.  The  silence  was  broken  by  Mad  Ann  herself, 
who  spoke  in  a  deep  but  not  unmelodious  voice  and  with  an 
accent  that  showed  her  English  origin. 

"Well,  yer  honor,  didn't  you  give  me  an  invite  to  the 
trial,  h'as  well  as  the  gentleman  from  the  garrison?  Just 
look  at  your  proclamation,  if  yer  honor  please,  and  see  h'if 
Ann  Trotter  'asn't  as  good  a  right  'ere  as  Leftenant  Burd. 
"Ow  does  it  read,  Mr.  h' Adjutant?  'Know  all  persons^by 
these  presents,'  and  etcetry.  Isn't  that  it?  An'  if  a  woman 
isn't  a  person,  will  the  gentleman  be  good  enough  to  say 
w'at  she  is?" 

There  was  a  ripple  of  pleased  excitement  in  the  com 
pany  at  the  good  point  which  Ann  had  made.  The  Adju 
tant  hurriedly  turned  up  the  order  proclaiming  the  shoot 
ing  match  and  handed  it  to  Gen.  Wayne. 

"She  has  the  advantage  of  us  there,  Lieutenant,"  said 
the  Commnader  smiling.  "Neither  'man'  nor  'men'  appears 
in  the  paper.  The  call  is  made  out  to  'all  persons.'  I  must 
decide,  I  think,  that  this  permits  Mrs.  Ann  a  lawful  place 
in  the  trials,  though  I  am  free  to  say  I  had  no  thought  of 
her  or  any  other  female  marksman  when  I  signed  the 
paper." 

'"The  point  seems  well  taken,"  said  Lieut.  Burd.  "But 
some  regard  ought  to  be  had  for  the  contestants.  I  dare  say 
others  think  as  I  do,  that  it  is  not  seemly  that  a  woman  take 
an  active  part  in  a  public  shooting  match,  and  is  unfitting 
that  men  should  compete  therein  with  women." 

"Troth,"  said  Ann,  in  a  deep  undertone,  as  though  com 
muning  with  herself.  "The  young  gentleman  disremem- 
bers  that  'is  h'own  mother  was  a  woman.  It's  an  ill  bird 
that  fouls  its  h'own  nest!"  said  she,  quoting  the  old  proverb 
with  a  peculiar  emphasis  on  the  word  "bird,"  and  a  know 
ing  glance  at  the  Lieutenant. 

This  sally  was  received  with  much  amusement,  not  so 
much  for  its  wit,  as  for  the  odd  seriousness  of  manner  in 
which  it  was  uttered.  Some  of  the  company  laughed  out 
right,  but  others,  among  whom  were  Mrs.  Neville  and  Mrs. 


164  THE   LATIMERS. 

Morgan,  expressed  their  decided  disapprobation.  Gen. 
Wayne  raised  his  hand  to  check  the  rising  merriment. 
Turning  to  the  contestants  he  said: 

"Gentlemen,  I  hesitate  to  decide  this  case.  Lieut.  Bur  J 
has  appealed  it  to  you,  and  I  am  willing  that  you  should 
decide  it.  But  let  it  be  understood  that  you  must  all  abide 
by  the  decision.  You  agree?  So  then  it  shall  be.  Lieut. 
Burd  votes  against  admitting  Mrs.  Ann  to  the  trial,  I  sup 
pose?" 

"I  do,  most  decidedly!"  said  the  Lieutenant. 

"What  say  you,  Mr.  Sheldon?" 

"Wall,  I  dunno  as  sex's  got  any  thin'  t'  do  with  good 
shooting  one  way  or  'nother.    Stiddy  narves,  an'  a  true  eye, 
ar?  a  trained  sight  are  the  main  things,  I  calc'late;  an'  ef 
wroman's  a  better  man  than  me  in  thct  partic'ler,  I  dunno's 
I  ought  to  hender  't.     Let  her  shoot,  sir,  for  all  me." 

"Panther,  what  say  you?" 

"Indian  no  send  squaw  on  warpath.  Mingo  braves 
shoot  game  for  their  families.  Let  squaw  stay  in  wigwam, 
mind  papoose,  cook  succotash.  Panther  says,  no!" 

"Ay,"  muttered  Mad  Ann,  "an'  plant  an'  'oe  the  corn 
that  goes  into  the  succotash,  h'as  well!  By  my  faith,  Mr. 
Burd,  I  wish  you  joy  of  your  fellowship.  No  doubt  it's 
'igh  satisfaction  to  know  that  your  h'opinion  of  a  woman 
h'agrees  with  the  savage's." 

Burd  flushed.  Panther  did  not  even  vouchsafe  a  grunt 
of  disapproval.  Gen.  Wayne  turned  to  McClellan  for  his 
vote.  The  scout,  already  as  famous  on  the  border  as  a 
modern  Buffalo  Bill,  declared  he  did  not  care  a  continental 
for  the  matter.  That  for  his  part  he  thought  a  woman's 
place  was  in  the  cabin  and  not  the  forest  or  field.  It  "went 
agin  the  grain,"  he  freely  allowed,  "to  have  a  female 
a-traipsin'  through  the  woods  with  sculpin'  knife  an'  rifle, 
an'  ridin'  a-straddle — " 

"Bobby  McClellan,"  quoth  Mrs.  Ann,  interrupting  the 
scout.  "Bad  'cess  to  ye  for  a  h'ungrateful  dog!  You  were 
glad  enough  to  ride  be'ind  me,  straddle  or  no  straddle, 
that  day  on  the  Tuscarawas  w'en  Ann  Trotter  with  'er 
black  geldin'  carried  you  h'out  o'  reach  of  the  Wyandottes. 
Deil  take  me  if  I  iver  again  give  myself  the  trouble  to  save 
that  shocky  sculp  o'  yourn  from  the  h'Injun's  knife." 

The  scout  joined  heartily  in  the  laugh  which  this  retort 
raised,  and  Gen.  Wayne  interrupted  by  querying:  "You 


THE   LATIMERS.  165 

vote  with  Lieut.  Burd  and  Panther,  then?  That  is  three 
to  one,  and  it  seems  to  settle  the  matter." 

"Hold  on  thar,  Giner'l!"  exclaimed  the  scout.  "I 
haven't  so  said,  by  a  long  shot,  nor  I  don't  meanter,  nuther. 
Matron  or  man,  mad  or  sound  witted,  I'm  blessed  if  I 
rightly  know  which  she  is  But  I  do  know  she's  a  brave 
body  with  a  kind  heart,  an'  has  been  a  good  friend  to  me 
and  manny  another  borderer.  So  let  her  shoot,  say  I." 

"A  tie!"  exclaimed  the  General.  "This  grows  quite 
exciting."  He  turned  laughingly  to  John.  "Now  Capt. 
Latimer,  the  casting  vote  is  with  you.  What  say  you?" 

The  young  man's  face  flushed  a  deep  red  in  the  embar 
rassment  of  the  situation.  He  felt  that  all  eyes  were  fixed 
on  him,  though  his  own  were  scarcely  raised  from  the 
ground.  A  deep  silence  fell  upon  the  circle  around  the 
headquarters  tent,  most  of  whom  were  now  on  their  feet. 
The  incident,  which  seemed  trivial  at  first,  had  come  to 
have  unwonted  interest  to  the  company.  At  last  John  mas 
tered  his  embarrassment,  and  said: 

"Since  the  issue  must  be  with  me,  your  Excellency, 
will  you  suffer  me  to  give  a  reason  for  my  vote?  If  we 
five  men  were  leaguered  in  a  block  house,  and  set  to  defend 
the  lives  of  helpless  women  and  children,  would  we  not 
heartily  welcome  the  rifle  of  this  woman?  In  good  sooth, 
we  would  not  scorn  it  because  of  her  sex.  How  then,  can 
we  in  justice  refuse  to  recognize  it  here?  Moreover,  it 
seems  to  me  that  as  a  matter  of  good  policy  it  would  be 
better  to  foster  than  discourage  the  use  of  the  rifle  among 
the  women  of  our  frontier.  Their  life  is  a  lonely  one,  and 
sore  exposed  to  perils  which  might  often  be  kept  from 
fatal  issue  were  the  maids  and  matrons  instructed,  like  our 
lads,  to  handle  firearms  deftly.  As  to  this  trial  of  skill 
losing  dignity  or  worth  from  the  competition  of  this  good 
woman,  let  me  assure  you  and  my  friend  Lieut.  Burd,  that 
you  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  Mrs.  Trotter.  To  be 
sure,  folk  do  call  her  'Mad  Ann;'  but  not  so  much  from 
any  lack  of  wit  as  for  the  presence  of  that  quality,  made 
notable  in  her  case  because  so  rare  in  women,  that  led  his 
admiring  countrymen  to  dub  the  leader  of  the  forlorn  hope 
at  Stony  Point  'Mad  Anthony  Wayne.'  I  vote,  ay!" 

The  modesty  of  the  young  man's  speech,  its  manly  good 
sense  and  chivalry,  and  the  wit  and  skillful  diplomacy  of 
his  closing  words,  so  won  upon  the  hearts  of  the  company 


166  THE   LATIMEBS. 

that  they  gave  forth  open  applause.  No  one  clapped  hands 
more  heartily  than  Blanche  Oldham  and  Fanny  McCor- 
mack.  Lieut.  Burd,  who  was  a  true  gentleman  in  both 
heart  and  manners,  howed  to  the  Commander,  and  lifting 
his  chapeau  gracefully  to  Ann  Trotter  courteously  wished 
her  good  luck. 

"  Thank' e  for  your  courtesy/'  quoth  Mad  Ann.  "I  '11 
not  begrudge  you  a  like  wish.  But  h'it's  my  opinion,  after 
all,  that  you'll  be  a  winged  'bird'  afore  the  shootin's  h'over, 
though  it'll  not  be  from  a  woman's  rifle,  I  suspect.  An' 
that  '11  be  a  bit  of  comfort  in  your  honor's  disappointment, 
no  doubt." 

An  inkling  of  the  discussion  around  the  headquarters 
tent  had  in  the  meantime  reached  the  crowd  of  troops  and 
spectators.  The  gist  of  the  matter  was  fairly  understood, 
though  the  details  were  not  known.  This  added  to  the 
interest  which  frontier  people  always  take  in  trials  of 
athletic  skill.  Therefore  as  the  contestants,  marshalled 
by  Mr.  Adjutant  McDowell  as  master  of  ceremonies,  moved 
forward  to  the  firing  point,  they  were  noisily  greeted,  for 
the  folk  were  highly  content  to  see  the  contest  under  way. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HOW  FRONTIER  RIFLEMEN  SHOWED  THEIR   SKILL. 

The  test  of  skill  began  with  the  practice  known  as  driv 
ing  the  nail.  Fifty  paces  were  measured  off,  and  hand- 
wrought  nails  (for  the  machine-made  articles  were  not  yet 
come  in)  were  set  fairly  in  a  broad  slab  erected  at  the  butts. 
In  the  trial  of  skill  Mad  Ann  and  Sheldon  clipped  the  nail. 
Burd  and  Panther  bent  it.  Latimer  partly  drove  it,  and 
thereby  won  a  round  of  applause,  chiefly  from  the  set 
tlers,  led  off  by  a  group  of  enthusiastic  friends  from  Wash 
ington  County,  headed  by  Andy  Burbeck,  who  had  taken 
their  stand  at  a  point  quite  near  the  butts,  whence  they 
could  easily  and  quickly  observe  the  results  of  the  shooting. 

"Thar's  no  use  a-wastin'  iron,"  said  McClellan,  as  he 
stepped  to  the  firing  point,  and  drawing  a  bead  upon  the 
nail  just  struck  by  John,  fired  and  drove  it  fairly  home, 
a  feat  which  vastly  pleased  the  spectators. 


THE   LATIMEKS.  167 

The  next  course  was  popularly  known  as  "snuffing  the 
candle/'  wherein  the  point  of  merit  lay  in  striking  off  with 
a  bullet  the  charred  wick  of  a  tallow  candle  without 
quenching  the  light.  The  test  was  made  at  forty  paces,  and 
as  a  fair  breeze  was  going  which  drove  the  flame  to  and  fro, 
and  to  give  the  marksmen  the  benefit  of  a  darkened  back 
ground  for  their  target,  an  empty  barrel  was  raised  upon 
stakes,  and  therein  the  burning  tallow  dip  was  placed. 
This  hindered  the  spectators  on  either  side  from  noting 
the  success  of  the  several  shots,  but  the  Sergeant  who  kept 
the  score  and  made  faithful  record,  gave  announcement 
after  every  firing. 

All  being  ready,  the  first  round  began,  Mrs.  Ann 
taking  the  lead  and  sending  her  bullet  through  the  flame 
above  the  wick.  Lieut.  Burd  who  followed,  struck  the 
candle  well  below  the  flame  and  quite  drove  it  to  the  barrel 
head.  Latimer  came  next  with  a  better  shot,  but  not  suc 
cessful,  for  he  cut  the  wick  just  balow  the  snuff,  thus 
quenching  the  light,  though  not  upsetting  the  candle. 
Mort.  Sheldon  and  Panther  clipped  the  edge  of  the  candle, 
twirling  the  same  about  but  not  extinguishing  the  light. 
McClellan  paused  but  a  moment  before  firing;  there  was  a 
quick  pulsation  of  the  flame,  no  other  visible  token  of  the 
shot,  but  the  Sergeant  announced  tnat  the  candle  had  been 
fairly  snuffed. 

Sheldon  led  off  on  the  second  round  with  a  shot  that 
cut  through  the  flame.  Lieut.  Burd  followed,  much  to  the 
dissatisfaction  of  Mad  Ann,  who  grumbled  that  he  would 
have  the  advantage  of  the  long  snuff  which  had  settled  by 
reason  of  Sheldon's  failure  to  disturb  the  candle.  Never 
theless,  the  marksman  did  not  score  a  success,  although 
he  made  a  good  shot,  cutting  the  wick  but  quenching  the 
light,  as  the  bullet  passed  a  mite  too  low. 

John  Latimer  chose  from  his  pouch  a  well-rounded 
bullet,  placed  it  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  and  fairly  cov 
ered  it  with  powder.  Then  from  a  little  box  in  the  butt  of 
the  rifle  he  selected  a  linen  patch,  and  touching  it  with  a 
bit  of  grease  in  the  corner  of  the  box,  rammed  the  bullet 
home  and  fired.  There  was  a  slight  flicker  in  the  flame  but 
the  candle  seemed  untouched. 

"A  miss,  a  miss!"  cried  some  of  the  officers  around  the 
headquarters  tent,  who  could  observe  the  result  from  their 
position,  and  were  so  strongly  enlisted  for  their  comrade 


168  THE    LATIMEKS. 

that  their  courtesy  was  quite  carried  away  by  their  parti 
ality.  The  troopers  nearby  caught  up  the  cry,  and  fancy 
ing  that  the  victory  rested  with  their  favorite,  cheered  him 
lustily.  But  now  the  Sergeant  at  the  butts  raised  his  hand, 
and  as  silence  fell,  announced  that  the  marksman  had  made 
a  clean  snuff,  and  the  best  shot  as  yet  scored. 

"Best  not  cry  afore  you're  hurt,  gintlemen,"  exclaimed 
a  voice  which  John  recognized  as  Andy  Burbeck's,  who 
thereupon  led  off  three  stirring  cheers  for  "Captain  Jock," 
in  which  the  most  part  of  tSe  settlers  joined  vociferously, 
and  which  at  least  two  ladies  at  the  General's  pavilion 
encouraged  by  waving  of  handkerchiefs.  McClellan  closed 
the  series  by  a  clean  snuff,  and  when  this  had  been  an 
nounced,  exclaimed:  "Hold  a  moment,  Sergeant!  Set  the 
candle  back  and  give  me  the  favor  of  an  extra  shot/7 

The  Adjutant  giving  assent,  the  Sergeant  replaced  the 
candle,  and  McClellan  charged  his  piece,  choosing  the  bullet 
with  more  attention  than  usual,  and  giving  a  little  more 
care  to  his  aim.  As  the  smoke  rolled  away,  he  rested  on  his 
piece  while  the  Sergeant  held  the  still  burning  candle  aloft 
and  announced  "a  double  snuff."  The  scout  had  aimed 
so  successfully  that  the  tip  of  the  wick  had  just  been 
touched,  carrying  away  the  small  amount  of  charred  matter 
that  survived  the  first  shot,- 

The  next  two  contests  were  of  skill  in  running  shots, 
and  as  these  required  more  action,  and  had  the  seeming  of 
good  markmanship  even  beyond  the  facts  thereof,  and 
were  altogether  more  sensational  in  manner  and  results, 
the  popular  interest  was  correspondingly  increased.  A 
squad  of  soldiers  hurried  into  the  arena  and  fixed  in  a  row 
six  slabs  about  the  average  height  of  a  man.  Upon  the 
top  of  each  was  placed  a  rudely  rounded  block  the  size  of 
a  man's  head;  and  upon  one  stick  near  the  middle  of  the 
group  was  nailed  a  white  heart-shaped  target  about  the 
bigness  of  one's  hand.  To  add  to  the  grotesqueness  of  the 
whole,  with  a  view  to  popular  effect,  a  stick  was  lashed 
upon  each  side  of  every  slab,  reaching  out  therefrom  like 
human  arms.  Two  hundred  yards  from  the  firing  point  a 
Government  wagon  was  placed,  and  the  rules  of  the  match 
required  that  every  marksman  in  turn  should  start  there 
from,  and  while  passing  before  the  target  at  a  distance  of 
fifty  yards,  in  full  run,  should  deliver  a  shot  at  one  of  the 
blocks.  Having  fired,  he  must  pass  around  the  wagon  to 


THE    LATIMERS.  169 

a  tree  hard  by,  reload,  and  returning  on  the  run,  fire  at  the 
white  heart  target  at  forty  paces.  A  record  of  the  time 
consumed  in  the  course  was  taken,  as  well  as  of  the  accuracy 
of  the  shooting. 

McClellan  led  upon  this  round,  and  having  driven  a  bul 
let  into  the  centre  of  the  block  and  got  back  to  the  wagon, 
disdained  to  pass  around  it,  but  leapt  quite  over  it,  cover 
and  all,  though  it  stood  eight  feet  and  a  half  high,  and 
without  apparent  interruption  of  speed,  got  behind  the  tree 
and  began  to  reload.  The  populace  broke  forth  into  a  frenzy 
of  cheers  at  the  flying  leap,  amidst  which  the  nimble  scout 
returned,  and  delivered  his  bullet  into  the  very  centre  of 
the  heart-shaped  target.  Such  an  achievement  as  this 
would  have  discouraged  those  who  were  to  follow,  had  not 
all  parties  well  understood  beforehand  that  Kobert  McClel 
lan  would  be  only  nominally  in  the  competition,  and  that 
the  real  conflict  would  be  between  the  others.  Therefore 
the  remaining  contestants,  without  chagrin,  and  with  good 
humor  turned  to  their  own  work. 

As  for  the  people,  though  they  well  knew  that  nothing 
would  follow  in  point  of  excellence  which  would  compare 
with  what  they  had  seen,  yet  their  interest  was  in  no  wise 
abated.  Men  are  so  constituted  that  a  competitive  display 
of  merit  always  awakens  a  higher  concern  than  the  con 
templation  of  merit  in  the  abstract.  A  race  against  time, 
though  done  with  higher  speed,  does  not  quicken  the  heart 
as  a  trial  of  mettle  between  inferior  creatures  struggling 
side  by  side.  The  love  of  competitive  games,  races,  sports, 
is  in  our  blood.  It  were  folly  to  try  to  obliterate  this  ethnic 
trait,  so  especially  strong  in  young  hearts.  The  way  of  wis 
dom  is  to  suffer  its  normal  outlet,  and  to  give  it  true  direc 
tion,  that  it  may  tend  to  manliness  of  character  and 
virility  of  body.  What  reason  is  there  that  the  spirit  of  an 
cient  chivalry,  its  unselfishness,  its  courtesy,  its  fairness, 
courage  and  strength,  should  not  dominate  our  nine 
teenth  century  sports,  and  these  take  on  therewith  all  the 
finer  tone  of  kindness  and  humanity  which  our  era  appre 
hends? 

First  came  Mort.  Sheldon  to  the  firing  point,  and 
squarely  hit  the  block  that  crowned  the  stick  assigned  to 
him.  Back  he  returned  with  long  swinging  lope,  covering 
the  ground  rapidly,  and  on  the  return  lodged  his  bullet  just 
short  of  the  edge  of  the  white  heart.  His  time  record 


170 


THE    LATIMEES. 


overpassed  by  two  seconds  that  of  McClellan  himself,  and 
won  him  well-deserved  applause.  There  were  few  who 
could  pass  the  long  and  supple-legged  Yankee  in  a  simple 
trial  of  speed  in  running,  a  fact  which  had  won  him  the 
Indian  name  Long  Loup.  Next  followed  Panther,  who 
plumped  his  block  fairly  enough,  but  clipped  the  edge  of 
the  central  stick  with  his  bullet.  However,  he  made  a 
record  of  time  five  seconds  shorter  than  Sheldon,  a  feat  that 
also  won  applause,  which  even  the  strong  frontier  preju 
dices  against  Indians  could  not  hinder  from  being  hearty. 
Much  to  the  surprise  and  disappointment  of  many,  Mad 
Ann  declined  to  take  part  in  the  last  two  trials.  She 
shouldered  her  rifle  and  walked  off  the  parade  ground,  amid 
the  good-natured  and  most  cordial  cheers  of  the  spec 
tators,  which  had  lost  the  tone  of  merriment  and  chaffing 
that  had  marked  her  first  appearance. 

The  two  chief  contestants  for  the  second  prize  now 
remained,  and  Lieut.  Burd  moved  toward  the  starting 
point  at  th,e  wagon  amidst  the  fixed  attention  of  the 
assembly.  His  agile  form  swept  by  the  target  at  high  speed, 
the  bullet  entering  but  little  short  of  the  centre.  Back  to 
the  starting  point;  once  more  before  the  target;  and  the 
Sergeant  announced  that  he  had  clipped  the  edge  of  the 
white  heart  and  had  equalled  McClellan  in  time. 

"Bravo,  bravo!"  cried  the  troopers,  who  shouted  again 
and  again  at  the  masterful  shooting,  as  Lieut.  Burd,  think 
ing  his  work  now  over  for  this  round,  crossed  the  field  to 
the  pavilion  where  he  was  greeted  by  waving  handker 
chiefs  and  clapping  hands. 

"Bravo,  indeed!"  cried  Andy  Burbeck  from  the  midst 
of  his  coterie  of  settlers.  "We  '11  begrudge  no  man  wrell 
'arned  laurels;  but  jist  wait,  if  ye  plaze,  ontil  Cap'n  Latimer 
delivers  his  shot/' 

"Tut,  Andy!"  cried  Corporal  Meldrum,  a  sturdy  Scotch 
man  hard  by,  who  knew  the  man  well  enough  to  venture 
in  friendly  chaff.  "Let  that  fly  stick  to  the  wall,  wull  ye? 
Yer  Captain  Jock  can't  beat  that  record,  I'll  be  bound." 

"I'll  lay  you  ten  to  one,"  Andy  began,  removing  his 
cap  and  passing  his  ruddy  fingers  through  his  stubble  of 
red  hair,  "that  Cap'n  John —  But  further  speech  was 
stopped  by  his  wife,  who  thrust  her  hand  over  his  mouth, 
and  laughingly  bade  him  bet  his  small  coin  first,  and  to 
keep  still,  for  Mr.  John  was  already  at  the  wagon  and  about 
to  start. 


THE   LATIMEES.  171 

"The  score!  The  score!"  resounded  from  every  side, 
when  John's  two  shots  had  been  fired,  so  keen  was  the 
anxiety  to  know  the  result.  But  the  Sergeant  gave  no 
response. 

"The  score!  The  score!"  cried  Andy  Burbeck,  seconded 
by  his  friends,  and  muttered  aside:  "What  diviltry  is 
agoin'  now?  Surely  they're  not  cajiootin'  to  euchre  Cap'n 
Jock  out  of  his  rights  ?" 

"Hoosh,  Andy,"  retorted  his  wife  soothingly.  "Don  t 
mintion  it.  How  dar'  ye  suspict  the  honor  of  sich  an 
officer  as  Adjutant  McDowell!" 

Meanwhile  the  Adjutant  carefully  measured  the  targets 
with  his  pocket  rule,  once  and  again,  with  a  coolness  that 
chafed  the  waiting  observers.  Then  followed  a  comparison 
of  time  records  and  without  any  announcement  the  Ser 
geant  was  sent  to  the  pavilion  to  make  verbal  report  to  Gen. 
Wayne. 

"What  can  the  matter  be?"  cried  Mrs.  Peggy.  "I'm 
fairly  a-dyin'  to  know  the  score.  Why  do  they  kape  it 
back?" 

"I  suspec',"  answered  Luke  Latimer,  who  was  an  eager 
spectator  of  the  scene,  "they  don't  know  much  better  nor 
yourself,  Peggy.  I  fancy  it's  nip  an'  tuck  wi'  the  two  men." 
Luke  Latimer  was  right.  The  Sergeant  returned  to  the 
butts,  and  after  reporting  to  the  Adjutant,  announced  that 
the  record  showed  an  exact  tie  both  in  the  time  of  the  runs 
and  the  nearness  of  the  shots. 

This  was  a  rare  incident,  indeed.  In  all  border  experi 
ences  of  shooting  matches  such  an  event  had  never  before 
been  known.  Of  course  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  a  new 
round,  and  Lieut.  Burd  returned  to  the  firing  point  fol 
lowed  by  a  volley  of  "Good  luck!"  wishes  from  his  comrades 
and  lady  friends.  As  he  rejoined  John,  the  two  young  men 
saluted,  and  while  they  stood  pleasantly  chatting,  awaiting 
further  orders,  they  challenged  the  admiration  of  all  Le- 
holders,  many  of  whom  agreed  that  it  would  be  hard  to 
match  them,  far  or  near,  for  stalwart  manly  grace  and 
vigor. 

Now  came  a  messenger  from  the  pavilion  saying  that  it 
was  Gen.  Wayne's  pleasure  that  the  contestants  should 
make  trials  together  instead  of  separately.  This  method, 
though  it  had  some  disadvantages,  certainly  gave  fresh 
zest  to  the  conflict,  and  added  to  the  popular  interest 


172  THE   LATIMEKS. 

therein.  After  certain  arrangements  had  been  made,  need 
ful  to  prevent  collision  or  interference  between  the  two 
men,  which  might  give  ground  for  disputing  the  results, 
Latimer  and  Burd  took  post  and  awaited  the  signal  to 
start. 

"One — two — three,  and  go!"  cried  the  Adjutant,  and 
the  two  competitors  started  at  high  speed.  Shoulder  to 
shoulder  they  ran,  across  the  open  area  of  the  parade 
ground,  for  at  least  half  the  distance,  when  Lieut.  Burd 
gradually  led  the  race,  coming  first  to  the  firing  point  and 
delivering  his  shot  a  fraction  of  a  minute  before  Latimer. 
Thereat,  his  partisans,  unable  to  control  their  feelings, 
raised  a  mighty  shout  and  cheered  on  their  favorite  with 
cries  of  "Bravo!"  "Good,  good!"  "Go  it!"  and  the  like. 

"See  yon,  Andy,"  exclaimed  Corporal  Meldrum,  his 
face  aglow  with  glee.  "Your  mon's  beat  for  sartain.  Our 
Lef tenant's  i'  the  lead  and  '11  keep  it!" 

"Best  not  halloo  afore  the  death,  Corporal,"  retorted 
Andy.  "Cluckin'  time's  aye  canty  time,  they  say.  But  you 
've  clucked  afore  the  eggs  are  laid,  mind  ye!"  For  all  that, 
the  honest  fellow  betrayed  his  vexation  by  an  anxious  face, 
as  he  stood  with  neck  eagerly  craned  to  follow  the  swift 
flying  athletes,  ever  and  anon  venting  a  yell  of  encourage 
ment  to  his  favorite  who,  meantime,  neither  heard  nor 
heeded,  but  strained  forward  with  mighty  leaps  and  over 
took  his  rival  just  at  the  appointed  goal.  The  two  disap 
peared  behind  the  covered  wagon,  one  on  either  side,  at 
the  same  moment. 

The  whole  assembly  was  held  in  silence  from  intensity 
of  emotion  during  the  brief  interval  in  which  the  marks 
men  were  charging  their  pieces.  When  Capt.  Latimer, 
having  first  finished,  bounded  into  view,  and  with  trailed 
rifle  headed  for  the  firing  point  several  yards  in  advance 
of  Lieut.  Burd,  the  settlers,  seeing  their  time  had  now 
come,  lifted  up  their  voices  in  a  shout  that  filled  the  air 
and  awakened  echoes  among  the  neighboring  hills. 

"Whar's  your  mon  now,  Corporal  ?"  cried  Andy,  carried 
away  with  joy  and  pride,  and  swinging  his  hands  in  rapid 
oscillation  through  his  hair.  "Ha,  ha!  Your  eggs  weren't 
worth  all  the  cacklin',  this  time!  Ah,  mon,  there's  manny 
a  slip  twixt  cup  and  lip!  Do  ye  mind  that,  now?" 

It  was  the  trooper's  turn  to  show  chagrin;  but  as  the 
runners  came  to  the  boundary,  and  two  shots  rang  in  closa 


THE    LATIMERS.  173 

-»t 

sequence,,  and  the  contestants  halted  and  rested  on  their 
rifles,  he  held  up  his  courage  by  remarking:  "Juist  mind 
your  own  advice,  Andy,  an'  don't  crow  afore  you're  out  o' 
the  woods.  Good  marksmansheep's  no  juist  a  matter  o' 
lang  legs.  Your  Captain  Jock's  na  doot  a  bonny  land 
louper,  but  that's  no  the  main  thing.  Wait  intil  you  hear 
the  Adjutant's  report  of  the  shootin'  afore  you  cry  the 
victory." 

But  the  Adjutant's  report  did  not  change  the  result, 
for  the  Sergeant  announced  that  while  both  marksmen 
had  made  equally  good  shots  at  the  top  blocks,  Capt. 
Latimer's  bullet  at  the  second  shot  had  entered  the  white 
heart,  while  Lieut.  Burd's  had  clipped  the  outer  edge,  thus 
giving  the  former  a  better  score. 

This  set  the  cheers  agoing  once  more,  and  now  the 
officers  and  troops,  touched  with  the  beat  and  stir  of  the 
environing  joy,  gave  sympathetic  response  by  joining  in 
the  applause;  for  although  one  other  trial  remained,  it 
plain  that  Latimer's  claim  to  the  second  place  and  prize 
could  not  be  set  aside  by  any  turn  of  fortune.  Indeed, 
Lieut.  Burd  had  already  given  the  winner  his  hand  and 
generous  congratulations. 

"I  could  have  wished  that  fortune  had  favored  me," 
said  he,  "not  only  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  the-  credit  of 
my  corps.  But  since  I  have  lost,  I  am  truly  glad  that  the 
laurels  have  fallen  to  one  who  is  every  way  worthy  to  wear 
them." 

A  generous  youth,  indeed!  And  the  spectators  who  saw 
the  young  men  shake  hands,  though  they  heard  not  a  word, 
were  pleased  thereat  and  cheered  again,  this  time  also  for 
Lieut.  Burd.  At  the  pavilion  the  current  of  favor  had 
run  quite  undisguised  towards  the  young  officer,  but  there 
were  some  who  tried  to  hold  an  impartial  spirit  and  one  or 
two  were  quietly  happy  at  the  issue. 

The  last  trial,  "the  running  load"  as  it  was  called,  was 
in  some  respects  the  most  unique  and  inieresting  in  itself, 
but  as  the  element  of  personal  competition  had  now  been 
practically  eliminated,  the  enthusiasm  writh  which  it  was 
witnessed  was  much  subdued.  The  targets  were  arranged 
as  in  the  foregoing  match,  but  the  white  heart  centre  was 
renewed.  The  rounded  blocks  on  top  of  the  sticks  were 
turned  to  present  a  fresh  surface  to  the  bullets;  and  to  gi  e 
an  added  touch  of  grotesqueness  and  thus  tickle  the  fancy 


174  THE    LATIMERS. 

Jfr 

of  the  crowd,  a  wild  goose  feather  was  thrust  into  every 
block.  The  rules  of  the  match  required  each  contestant 
to  run  from  the  pavilion  to  a  log  laid  upon  the  parade 
ground  one  hundred  yards  from  the  targets;  to  take  shelter 
behind  the  log  and  fire  from  the  ground  at  the  white  heart. 
Then  rising  he  must  run  to  the  wagon  as  if  pursued  by  an 
enemy,  and  return  to  the  log,  loading  his  rifle  upon  the 
course  without  stopping;  and  having  reached  the  log  again, 
fire  quickly  at  the  blocks,  either  standing  or  kneeling  as 
he  might  choose. 

With  our  modern  breech-loading  firearms  such  a  feat 
would  scarcely  be  worthy  of  mention;  but  with  the  muzzle- 
loaders,  flint-locks  and  priming-pans  known  to  the  pio 
neer,  none  but  the  most  expert  and  experienced  could  gain 
great  success.  The  most  expert  of  all  the  borderers  in  this 
exercise  was  the  famous  scout,  Louis  Wetzel,  who  however 
had  not  come  to  this  shooting  match,  much  to  the  regret 
of  many  who  would  fain  have  seen  a  trial  of  skill  between 
him  and  McClellan.  That  would  have  been  a  meeting  as 
noteworthy  after  its  kind  as  the  duel  between  Achilles  and 
Hector  on  the  plain  of  Troy. 

That  the  reader  may  learn  how  this  feat  was  performed, 
let  him  note  the  movements  of  Eobert  McClellan  who, 
the  others  having  finished  their  trials,  closed  the  series  and 
concluded  the  match.  At  the  word  he  springs  from  the 
pavilion  front,  and  crouching  low  with  trailed  piece  sweeps 
over  the  field  with  noiseless  stride.  He  has  reached  the 
log,  has  hurled  himself  prone  behind  it,  and  with  scarcely 
a  moment's  interval  has  fired  into  the  centre  of  the  white 
heart.  Ere  the  smoke  of  the  discharge  lifts,  he  is  up  and 
away  toward  the  wagon. 

See  how  he  tucks  his  rifle  under  the  right  arm  and 
lowers  it  until  the  butt  hangs  as  near  to  the  ground  as  may 
he  without  bumping.  Now  the  left  hand  lifts  the  powder 
horn  to  the  teeth  which  pull  out  the  stopper.  The  right 
hand  is  raised;  into  the  hollow  thereof  the  charge  is  de 
canted;  the  horn  drops;  the  rifle  is  transferred  to  the  left 
arm,  and,  the  butt  still  hanging  low,  the  right  palm  is 
closed  over  the  muzzle  and  the  powder  dropped  thereinto. 
See!  the  rifle  is  held  aloft  while  a  patch  is  taken  from  the 
little  box  in  the  butt,  and  thrust  with  finger  point  into  the 
muzzle  as  the  piece  is  once  more  lowered.  It  is  easier  to 
get  the  bullet  from  the  pouch;  but  here  you  observe  that 


THE    LATIMERS.  175 

even  McClellan,  in  the  haste  and  difficulty  of  the  move 
ment,  drops  one  bullet,  and  has  to  go  again  to  his  pouch 
ere  he  gets  a  ball  fairly  stuck  within  its  place. 

Now  comes  perhaps  the  most  difficult  part  of  the  per 
formance.  The  rifle  is  at  trail,  the  butt  thrust  far  back, 
and  the  right  hand  withdraws  the  ramrod.  Steady,  there! 
Never  were  coolness  and  care  more  needed;  for  a  dropped 
ramrod  will  send  the  competitor  out  of  the  lists,  and  in  a 
running  fight  with  an  enemy  might  cost  one's  life.  The 
ramrod  is  safely  out.  It  is  grasped  by  one  hand  near  to  the 
butt  end,  and  with  the  left  hand  near  to  the  rifle  muzzle, 
the  two  hands  are  approached  and  the  stick  given  lodg 
ment  within.  On  the  marksman  strides,  a  push — a  leap — 
the  bullet  is  home!  Will  he  put  the  ramrod  back?  Not 
now.  He  grasps  it  by  the  middle  with  his  teeth  and  holds 
up  the  rifle  to  note  the  result. 

Do  you  see  him  snap  open  the  flint-lock?  Do  you  note 
how  he  scans,  as  he  runs,  the  priming  pan?  Is  the  powder 
fairly  up?  Alas,  no!  See  him  tap  the  rifle-butt  lightly 
against  the  ground  as  he  leaps  along  to  jar  the  charge  into 
place;  and  swinging  it  up  to  his  left  arm,  once  more  he 
scans  the  priming.  Bad,  bad!  Failure  again!  The  chances 
of  success,  of  a  life  it  may  be,  cannot  be  taken  on  such  a 
showing.  Once  more  the  rifle  is  swung  under  the  right  arm, 
but  this  time  with  the  stock  forward  and  the  lock  well 
under  the  face.  Up  comes  the  powder  horn,  and  from  the 
open  nozzle  the  priming  is  dusted  in.  Keep  a  steady  hand, 
good  fellow,  as  you  swing  around  the  wagon.  No  over 
leaping  the  canvas  cover  on  this  tour  of  duty.  Ah,  ha!  All 
is  well,  for  you  may  see  that  he  is  getting  the  ramrod  into 
its  place. 

Ay,  and  you  may  hear  the  token  of  the  good  news;  for 
the  scout,  flinging  back  his  head,  utters  a  war-whoop  so 
fierce  and  loud,  that  echoes  are  set  agoing  among  the  hills, 
and  the  ladies  in  the  pavilion  feel  their  hearts  beat  quicker, 
as  with  a  sense  of  terror.  Surely  it  is  a  grim  image  of  the 
war  spirit  that  one  sees,  such  war  spirit  as  the  combats  of 
the  border  knew  and  evoked,  as  this  man  crouches  to  the 
ground,  and  with  every  muscle  swollen  with  exertion,  and 
eyes  fairly  aflame  with  the  excitement  of  the  mimic  com 
bat,  rushes  down  upon  the  firing  point. 

A  moment's  pause;  a  brief  word  aside  to  the  Adjutant; 
a  nod  of  assent.  Crack!  The  feather  on  the  mock  foeman's 


176  THE   LATIMEES. 

head  flies  away,  while  the  welkin  rings  with  lusty  huzzas. 
The  people  at  once  had  divined  the  meaning  of  the  brief 
interchanges  between  scout  and  officer.  McClellan  had 
changed  his  aim,  and  clipped  the  edge  of  the  block  just 
where  the  feather  was  thrust  in,  and  sent  the  goose  plume 
to  the  winds.  At  one  hundred  yards!  And  with  the  hap 
hazard  and  imperfect  charging  compelled  by  a  running 
load,  and  which,  as  every  marksman  knows,  would  vastly 
heighten  the  difficulty!  Even  the  hosts  of  skilled  riflemen 
there  present  might  well  be  carried  away  with  enthusiastic 
admiration  of  such  skill. 

To  McClellan  was  adjudged  the  first  prize,  a  silver 
hunting  watch.  To  Capt.  John  Latimer  was  given  the 
second  prize  in  both  courses;  a  new  rifle  with  powder  horn, 
pouch  and  belt,  and  a  silver  compass.  Gen.  Wayne  deliv 
ered  the  trophies  with  a  few  words  of  compliment;  then  the 
drummers  beat  the  assembly,  and  the  troops  fell  .in  for 
evening  parade.  Most  of  the -visitors  waited  to  see  this 
always  beautiful  exercise,  and  then  slowly  dispersed.  For 
many  a  day,  on  many  a  trail,  at  many  a  bivouac,  and  in 
many  a  cabin,  were  discussed  the  exciting  incidents  anl 
excellent  marksmanship  seen  at  the  shooting  match  at 
Legionville. 

"What  will  John  do  with  his  prize?"  queried  Mrs.  Polly 
Latimer.  "He  has  a  good  rifle  which  he  would  not  ex 
change  for  any  in  the  country,  and  two  others  of  less  worth. 
If  he  could  swap  with  McClellan  now,  he  might  get  some 
value  from  the  shooting  match." 

John  soon  resolved  all  doubts  as  to  his  purpose,  for  ere 
the  boat  was  pushed  off  from  shore,  and  as  he  was  speaking 
a  word  of  good-bye  to  Panther  and  Featherfoot,  he  placed 
the  prize  rifle  in  the  Mingo's  hands.  "I  beg  you  to'  accept 
it,"  said  he,  "as  a  mark  of  gratitude  for  service  to  my  family 
and  myself.  You  taught  me  the  use  of  the  rifle,  and  if  my 
skill  was  greater  than  yours  to-day,  it  was  due  to  you. 
Moreover,  since  I  have  heard  from  father  how  you  saved 
my  life  and  the  lives  of  my  kindred  at  Indian  Eocks,  I  have 
longed  to  show  how  kindly  I  remember  it.  You  need  a  new 
rifle  for  the  hard  and  delicate  service  before  us  all.  There, 
take  it,  and  God  bless  you,  my  old  friend  and  teacher!  I 
will  keep  the  pouch  and  belt,  which  I  know  you  do  not 
need,  and  for  which  I  have  other  use." 

Luke,  who  stood  by,  was  delighted  with  his  son's  act, 


THE   LATIMERS.  177 

than  which  nothing  could  have  been  more  timely,  for  he 
felt  sure  that  Panther's  only  reason  for  contesting  at  the 
match  was  in  the  hope  that  he  might  win  this  very  object. 
The  Indian's  pleasure  was  unbounded,  and  its  intensity 
and  the  surprise  at  the  gift  came  near  upsetting  his  stoical 
self-control.  His  delight  burned  from  his  black  eyes  and 
suffused  his  face,  relaxing  its  wrinkles  and  giving  its  red  a 
warmer  hue.  He  removed  the  water-proof  covering  of 
deer's  bladder  from  the  stock,  sprung  the  lock  to  and  fro, 
examined  the  pan,  peered  into  the  muzzle,  drew  out  and 
bent  to  and  fro  the  tough  hickory  ramrod,  s\vung  the  butt 
to  his  shoulder,  and  glanced  through  the  sights.  Then  he 
rested  the  stock  upon  the  ground,  and  reaching  forth  his 
arm  grasped  the  young  man's  hand,  and  with  something 
like  a  tear  glistening  in  his  eyes,  muttered  his  thanks: 

"The  Young  Oak  is  the  Big  Heart.  Panther  will  never 
forget  his  gift;  and  the  Big  Heart's  enemies  shall  know  its 
cry  and  bite.  It  shall  go  with  him  to  his  death;  and  may 
the  Good  Spirit  grant  that  he  may  carry  it  in  the  Happy 
Hunting  grounds."  Thereafter  to  the  end  of  his  days,  with 
Panther,  at  least,  the  nom  de  guerre  of  John  Latimer  was 
not  "Young  Oak,"  but  "The  Big  Heart." 

Another  person  had  come  to  exchange  adieus  with  the 
boat  company.  Lieut.  Burd  begged  the  favor  of  joining 
the  party,  and  with  especial  attention  to  Mrs.  Morgan  and 
her  niece,  walked  from  the  parade  ground  to  the  river. 
The  boat  was  ready  to  pull  off.  Capt.  Latimer  and  Lieut. 
Burd  stood  on  the  shore,  the  former  with  the  boat  painter 
in  his  hand.  Luke  and  Andy  at  the  bow  had  poles  ready 
to  thrust  out.  The  women  were  waving  handkerchiefs  to 
friends  who  were  also  embarking  in  canoes  and  barges. 
Blanche  stood  at  the  bow  merrily  winding  her  bugle,  whose 
echoes  gave  answer  from  the  two  opposite  islands  and  the 
river  hills  beyond.  Burd  waved  his  farewell  and  turned 
to  bid  John  good-bye. 

"Come!"  said  the  latter,  looking  his  late  competitor 
fairly  in  the  face.  "You  might  as  well  join  us  and  accom 
pany  the  ladies  as  far  as  Chartiers.  As  I  go  on  to  Pittsburg 
I  can  land  you  at  the  garrison." 

There  was  a  peculiar  flush  about  the  eyes  as  the  gener 
ous  youth  gave  this  bidding.  Was  it  quite  sincere?  Did  it 
cost  a  qualm  of  self-denial?  Was  there  a  latent  hope  that 
it  might  be  declined?  At  all  events,  it  was  heartily  uttered, 
12 


178  THE  LATIMERS. 

with  a  degree  of  hospitality  in  the  tone  that  almost  carried 
compulsion. 

For  a  moment  Burd  hesitated.  He  glanced  at  Blanche 
Oldham,  who  with  face  aglow  with  vivacity  and  the  excite 
ment  of  the  novel  situation,  stood  like  a  divine  daughter 
of  Triton,  waving  her  horn  at  the  shore.  It  was  a  sore 
temptation.  Why  should  he  not  yield  to  it  and  accept  the 
invitation?  But  he  too  was  a  generous  youth.  He  looked 
at  the  tall  and  comely  man  before  him. 

"A  backwoods  Apollo!"  quoth  he  to  himself.  "As 
comely  a  specimen  of  manhood  as  I  ever  saw.  By  Jove!  a 
man  might  well  fear  such  a  rival  even  if  he  is  only  a  hunter. 
But  no,  this  is  his  chance,  and  it  would  be  mean  to  thwart 
him  in  it.  I  doubt  the  adage  that  all  things  are  fair  in  love, 
though  it  may  be  so  in  war.  Besides — but — enough  of 
that!"  With  a  movement  of  the  hand  he  seemed  to  brush 
some  unworthy  thought  aside.  Then  bidding  Latimer 
a  cordial  farewell,  and  with  a  warm  grasp  of  the  hand,  he 
turned  back  to  Legionville. 

The  author  may  so  far  take  his  reader  into  confidence 
as  to  inform  him  that  the  obtruding  image  which  Lieut. 
Burd  repelled,  was  the  thought  that  in  a  few  days  he  was 
to  lead  a  military  escort  across  the  mountains,  and  that 
several  of  the  officers'  wives  were  taking  advantage  of  this 
protection  to  return  East.  Moreover,  Gen.  Neville  had 
arranged  that  Blanche  should  accompany  the  troop  as  far 
as  Carlisle  on  her  way  home  to  Philadelphia.  What  better 
opportunity  could  a  gallant  and  handsome  officer  wish  than 
this  service,  with  its  romantic  conditions,  its  constant  pro 
tection  and  close  propinquity,  to  win  a  maiden's  favor? 

Now  the  keel  boat  was  off,  and  Luke  and  Andy  marched 
back  and  forth  in  alternate  measure  along  the  running- 
board,  with  butt  of  poles  against  their  shoulders,  and  tip 
thereof  on  the  bottom  where  the  depth  allowed,  pushing 
the  vessel  up  stream.  When  the  depth  of  the  channel  was 
too  great  for  poling,  they  manned  the  sweeps  and  thus  got 
headway. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  the  hills  in  a  glow  of  striate 
clouds,  red  and  green  and  lavender  and  purple,  and  shed 
ding  his  rays  far  beyond  the  zenith,  set  into  rosy  flame  the 
high  floating  banks  of  cirrous  cloud  in  the  East.  Blanche 
was  watching  this  scene  from  the  little  cabin  door  hard  by 
the  upping  block  from  which  John  was  steering.  He 


THE   LATIMERS.  179 

lashed  the  rudder  and  approached  the  maiden,  having  in 
hand  the  prize  pouch  and  horn,  with  their  bright-beaded 
baldrick.  Would  Miss  Oldham  honor  him  by  accepting 
the  same?  He  knew  that  she  was  collecting  trophies  of  her 
Western  visit  to  decorate  therewith  her  Eastern  home. 
Here  were  objects  too  fair  by  far  for  a  hunter  like  him 
self  and  for  the  rough  service  of  his  trade.  Would  she 
accept  the  memento? 

With  her  aunt's  permission,  yes,  indeed,  most  gladly 
and  thankfully! 

The  damsel  ran  to  where  her  aunt  sat  with  the  other 
ladies,  and  with  face  beaming  forth  gratification,  howed  her 
treasure  and  begged  to  keep  it.  The  three  matrons  bent 
over  the  trophies  and  were  too  intent  upon  admiring  the 
quaint  carving  on  the  powder  horn,  and  the  beautiful  bead 
work  on  pouch  and  baldrick,  to  note  that  the  blood  went 
from  Fanny's  face,  leaving  it  pallid,  and  then  returned 
again  until  it  flushed  bright  red.  Why  should  not  she  also 
have  hastened  to  congratulate  her  friend  upon  her  gift? 

"Don't  you  like  it,  Fanny?"  quoth  Blanche,  noting  her 
hesitation  and  coolness.  "Ah,  I  understand!  You  have 
seen  so  much  of  this  work  that  you  cannot  appreciate  it  as 
I  do,  to  whom  it  is  so  novel."  Thereby  admonished,  Fanny 
came  forward  and  gave  hesitating  and  guarded  praise;  for 
was  it  not  so,  as  Blanche  had  suggested,  that  these  objects 
were  no  novelty  to  her?  Blanche  returned  to  the  tiller 
where  John  stood,  and  graciously  accepted  the  proffered 
gifts  much  to  the  young  man's  content. 

Was  John's  mother  as  highly  pleased  with  this  bestow- 
ment  as  with  that  of  the  rifle?  She  kept  her  thoughts  to 
herself,  at  least,  but  could  not  keep  back  from  her  husband 
the  wonder  that  John  had  not  given  the  knife  and  belt 
with  the  other  objects,  for  surely,  he  had  enough  and  to 
spare  of  such  trappings  about  the  house.  "Young  men's 
trumpery!  What  a  litter  the  lad  does  keep  around  him 
with  it  all!  It's  aye  follow  after  and  redd  up.  But  they're 
all  alike  in  that  pertic'ler,  are  the  lads — God  bless  them!" 

Later  in  the  evening,  though  the  space  on  deck  was 
small,  a  moonlight  dance  was  proposed.  Andy  Burbeck 
brought  forth  his  fiddle,  for  the  pioneer  watermen  were 
skilled  in  the  use  of  both  that  instrument  and  the  winding 
horn.  John  led  out  Mrs.  Morgan,  and  the  McCormack  lads 
the  other  matrons,  and  a  merry  time  was  had,  while  Luke 


180  THE   LATIMEES. 

slowly  poled  the  keel  boat  against  the  current.  Then  the 
maidens  had  their  turn;  and  was  it  by  accident  that  Fanny 
McCormack  was  led  out  by  John?  When  the  dance  was 
over  these  two  partners  were  chatting  pleasantly  in  the 
bow,  watching  the  water  ripple  against  the  beak  and  bubble 
off  along  the  sides.  What  a  temptation  it  is, — and  was 
there  ever  a  maiden  who  could  resist  it  ? — to  push  up  sleeve 
of  frock,  and  thrust  bare  arm  within  the  soft  rushing  water, 
and  plash  and  paddle  therein?  Leaving  Fanny  toying  thus 
with  the  current,  John  excused  himself  for  a  moment  as 
though  to  look  after  the  steering,  and  presently  came  back 
carrying  the  prize  belt  with  its  sheath  and  hunting  knife. 

"This  is  yours,  Fanny/7  he  said,  "  'for  auld  acquentance 
sake/  "  and  he  drew  it  about  her  waist.  "I  wouldn't  like 
you  to  cultivate  the  stalwart  gifts  of  Mad  Ann,  and  practice 
with  the  scalping  knife.  But  perhaps  you  may  find  for 
the  implement  some  domestic  and  peaceful  service,  mayhap 
that  of  a  bread  knife.  Yet,  who  knows?  Our  border 
women  may  soon  have  need  of  ruder  tools  than  spinning 
wheel  and  baking  pan.  God  in  mercy  forbid;  and  give  the 
victory  to  Wayne  and  his  Legion!  It's  a  poor  fit,  isn't  it?" 
he  continued,  with  a  light  laugh,  seeing  how  the  belt  over 
lapped  the  maiden's  waist.  "But  you  have  a  cunning  hand 
with  needle  and  scissors,  Fanny,  and  can  quickly  remedy 
that." 

"Oh,  John/'  the  maiden  said.  "How  good  in  you  to 
remember  me!" 

The  moonlight  was  not  bright  enough  to  show  the  tear 
that  dropped  upon  the  bead  work  and  consecrated  that  gift 
to  most  sacred  memory.  Nor  did  the  youth  dream — and 
what  would  he  have  thought  if  he  had  known? — that  when 
he  turned  away  to  his  duties  with  a  light  word,  and  van 
ished  behind  the  cabin,  this  maid,  the  playmate  of  his 
childhood,  the  friend  of  his  youth,  bent  her  head  and  raised 
the  beaded  sheath  of  the  hunting  knife  to  her  lips  and 
kissed  it,  as  she  murmured: 

"  'For  auld  acquentance  sake'  he  said.  Yes,  acquain 
tance.  Ah,  indeed,  that  auld  acquentance  can  never  be 
forgot!" 

What  with  the  little  boat-cuddy  and  the  log  cabins  at 
the  trading  post,  the  company  spent  a  comfortable  night 
at  the  mouth  of  Chartiers  Creek,  and  the  next  day  took 
horse  and  rode  over  to  Canonsburg,  while  John  with  Andy 


THE    LATIMERS.  181 

for  aid,  poled  up  the  Ohio  to  Pittsburg.  Nearly  two  years 
passed  ere  Blanche  Oldham  and  John  Latimer  again  met, 
and  strange  and  terrible  were  the  circumstances  that  then 
brought  them  face  to  face. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  MEETING  AT  THE  FALLS  OF  MINGO  CREEK. 

The  Mingo  Creek  local  regiment  of  militia  had  been 
summoned  to  meet  at  Mingo  Church  on  the  16th  of  July, 
1794.  The  purpose  of  the  call  was  to  form  their  quota  of 
the  national  militia.  The  settlement  was  largely  made  up 
of  men  of  Scotch-Irish  descent  who  had  strong  opinions 
on  the  excise  issue.  The  Democratic  Association  of  Mingo 
Creek  was  numerous  and  active.  At  least  three  hundred 
of  its  members  were  enrolled  in  the  regiment,  and  thus  had 
a  controlling  influence.  It  was  therefore  a  favorable  field 
wherein  David  Bradford  might  foment  his  plot  for  a  sepa 
rate  State,  and  beyond  that,  perhaps,  an  independent 
Western  Republic. 

On  the  day  before  that  appointed  for  the  rendezvous, 
Bradford  rode  past  the  Mingo  Creek  Church  and  graveyard 
to  the  waterfall  a  short  distance  beyond,  where  three  men 
awaited  him.  One  was  Luke  Latimer.  Another  was  Ben 
jamin  Parkinson,  a  tall  spare  man  with  red  hair,  the  presi 
dent  of  the  Mingo  Creek  Democratic  Association,  and 
owner  of  the  ferry  over  the  Monongahela  River  bearing  his 
name,  which  is  now  the  site  of  Monongahela  City.  The 
third  was  Major  John  McFarlane,  a  man  destined  to  a  sad 
immortality  as  the  leader  of  an  expedition  which  precipi 
tated  the  Western  Insurrection,  and  brought  an  invading 
army  across  the  Allegheny  into  the  Western  counties.  He 
was  forty-three  years  old;  had  served  with  courage  and 
credit  throughout  the  War  of  Independence;  was  a  citizen 
of  Washington  County,  wherein  he  had  acquired  consid 
erable  property,  and  was  esteemed  by  neighbors  and  a 
numerous  and  respectable  circle  of  acquaintances.  He 
was  of  orderly  deportment,  but  enthusiastic  in  his  opposi 
tion  to  the  revenue  acts  and  their  enforcement,  which  he 
believed  to  be  an  invasion  of  the  rights  of  the  people  and 


182  THE   LATIMERS. 

tyrannical  towards  his  section.  He  was  above  the  medium 
height,  of  erect  carriage,  not  demonstrative  in  manner, 
but  showing  his  feelings  by  the  changing  expressions  of 
his  swarthy  features  and  keen  eyes. 

Bradford  had  adopted  the  methods  of  the  French  Revo 
lution,  then  in  full  progress,  as  the  model  of  his  proposed 
insurrection.  He  was  an  especial  admirer  of  the  Jacobin 
Club  and  its  mode.  Robespierre  was  his  ideal  leader. 
Where  his  associates  and  compatriots  threatened  tar-and- 
feathers  or  hanging,  he  spoke  of  the  guillotine.  Following 
this  affectation,  the  committee  now  meeting  with  him  at 
the  Mingo  Creek  Falls  he  was  pleased  to  regard  as  the 
"Directory,"  and  saluted  his  associates  as  "Citizen  Direc 
tors."  Greetings  were  soon  over,  and  descending  the  steep 
bank  of  the  stream  to  a  retired  spot,  the  men  sat  upon  the 
rocks  beneath  the  overhanging  trees  while  the  arch  plotter 
unfolded  his  schemes. 

Beyond  them  the  creek  had  worn  a  circular  pool  into 
which  it  tumbled  over  a  series  of  shelving  limestone 
rocks.  From  one  jutting  shelf  to  another  it  ran  with  goodly 
volume  when  the  waters  were  high,  and  thence  swirling 
around  the  ribbed  walls  of  the  pool,  rippled  of?  noisily  over 
a  lumpy  incline  into  a  quieter  channel.  Now,  in  the 
height  of  summer,  the  stream  ran  scant,  and  the  plash  of 
the  fall  and  lapping  of  the  current  were  not  loud  enough 
to  disturb  the  men's  speech,  but  gave  a  pleasant  accompani 
ment  by  their  droning  cadence. 

"Gentlemen,"  began  Bradford,  "the  United  States  mar 
shal  has  been  passing  through  the  counties  serving  his 
writs  upon  delinquent  distillers,  and  everywhere  has  been 
received  with  almost  servile  docility.  It  looks  as  if  all  grit 
had  gone  out  of  the  distillers  of  our  section,  and  that  all 
will  fall  into  line  and  register  their  stills  unless  something 
is  done  to  stop  them.  What  then  will  follow?" 

"That  is  'asily  told,"  said  Luke.  "The  stillers  will  coin- 
bine  with  the  axcise  officers  to  enforce  the  laws,  an'  the  peo 
ple  wull  be  shorn  of  their  rights  to  free  manufactur  of 
sperits.  The  price  of  grain  711  be  at  the  marcy  of  the  cabal, 
and  the  planter,  forbidden  to  use  it  in  the  only  profitable 
way,  unable  to  pay  taxes,  an'  kep'  from  providin'  his  own 
market  in  New  Orleans,  will  have  to  sell  at  starvation 
prices.  But  how  is  it  to  be  handered?" 

"That  is  the  question  now  before  us,"  said  Bradford; 


THE   LATIMEES.  183 

"and  the  future  of  this  cause  hangs  on  our  decision  to-day. 
Something  must  be  done  at  once  to  arouse  the  people. 
They  must  be  urged  into  some  step  that  will  commit  them 
thoroughly  to  opposition.  Some  of  them  are  ripe  for  a  ris 
ing.  The  rest  must  be  committed  to  it;  be  dragged  into  it 
if  need  be." 

"That 's  'asier  said  nor  done/'  quietly  remarked  McFar- 
lane.  "The  folk  out  this  way  are  not  the  sort  that  can  be 
driven  into  measures  agin  their  will  an'  conscience.  Great 
Britain  larnt  that  lesson  to  her  sorrow,  and  we  beeta  not 
forgit  it." 

"Hold!"  said  Bradford,  "I  said  dragged,  not  driven. 
There's  a  vast  difference  in  the  words;  and  by  dragging  I 
do  not  mean  a  violent  pulling  against  popular  will.  Men 
are  often  led  by  unseen  cords,  and  they  go  all  the  more 
blithely  because  they  think  themselves  self -drawn.  I  would 
have  something  arranged  here  and  now  that  when  done 
will  compel  the  masses  to  stand  by  their  leaders,  and  force 
the  administration  to  take  some  aggressive  action.  And 
what  can  it  do  but  threaten?  We  are  too  far  off  for  the 
Easterners  to  strike  us,  and  the  mountains  lie  between  us 
and  them.  There  can  only  be  one  issue  to  the  contro 
versy;  an  independent  State  west  of  the  Alleghenies. 
Then  we  will  make  excise  laws  to  suit  ourselves." 

There  was  here  a  manifest  eschewing  of  the  fact  that 
the  United  States  Constitution  puts  excise  laws  beyond 
jurisdiction  of  the  several  States.  But  Bradford  knew  that 
he  was  not  dealing  with  constitutional  lawyers  now,  and 
could  afford  to  overlook  such  trifling  obstacles.  Besides, 
it  was  difficult  for  men,  in  the  early  days  of  the  Federal 
Union,  to  rid  themselves,  in  ordinary  thought,  of  the  old 
Colonial  methods  of  independent  control  of  revenue  mat 
ters. 

"It  would  be  easy  enough  for  a  few  of  us  to  do  some 
overt  act,"  said  McFarlane,  "and  perhaps  get  our  neighbors 
to  indorse  it.  But,  sir,  it  will  be  harder  nor  you  think  to 
stir  them  to  insurraction  agin  a  Government  so  many  of  ?em 
have  fought  to  erect.  You  may  bring  a  horse  to  water,  but 
you  can't  make  him  drink,  you  know.  You  may  bring  folk 
to  the  aidge  of  rebellion,  but  can  you  get  'em  to  jump  over 
the  brink?  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  sir.  It  will  take  some 
mighty  axcitement  and  deep  wrong  to  force  ?em  into  sairi- 
ous  opposition  til  the  Government." 


184  THE    LATIMEKS. 

"Well,  and  there  is  no  thought,,  nor  will  there  be  need 
of  serious  opposition/'  answered  the  wily  plotter.  "One 
demonstration  of  the  fixed  will  of  the  people  of  these 
counties  will  settle  the  matter.  Besides,  even  if  it  were  to 
come  to  that,  haven't  we  the  same  right  to  rise  against 
tyranny  at  Philadelphia  that  we  had  against  tyranny  at 
London?  Have  we  lost  our  liberties  and  manhood  by 
adopting  the  Federal  Constitution?  I  trow  not." 

"Well,  well,"  interrupted  Luke.  "Come  to  the  p'int. 
There's  small  use  a-discussin'  principles  now.  Say  what  it 
your  purpose  at  wanct." 

"I  will  do  so.  To-morrow  the  Mingo  Creek  regiment 
meets.  Mr.  Parkinson  is  the  president  of  the  Mingo  Creek 
Democratic  Association,  and  Major  McFarlane  an  influen 
tial  officer.  Let  us,  as  the  Directory,  order  a  movement  on 
Inspector  Neville's  house  to  demand  that  he  surrender  to 
us  his  commission  and  promise  that  he  will  resign  his 
post." 

"An'  if  he  refuse?" 

"Then  notify  him  to  leave  the  country,  or  stay  at  his 
peril." 

"Good  heavens,  gentlemen!"  cried  Mr.  Parkinson,  who 
was  reputed  to  be  more  inclined  to  foment  trouble  than  to 
face  its  consequences.  "Gen.  Neville  is  not  a  person  to 
submit  to  that  sort  of  thing.  There  will  be  fighting,  sure, 
and  bloodshed  it  is  to  be  feared." 

"Pooh !"  exclaimed  Bradford.  "Fancy  a  handful  of  white 
men  and  a  few  score  negro  slaves  attempting  to  fight  a 
whole  regiment  of  armed  men!  It  is  absurd.  The  mere 
show  of  force  will  compel  submission;  and  if  Neville  gives 
up  we  have  the  game  in  our  own  hands.  But  if  he  don't 
give  up,  and  there  should  be  fighting,  what  then?  It  was 
the  first  shot  at  Lexington  that  raised  the  echoes  of  the 
American  Eevolution!  So  the  rattle  of  rifles  on  Bower 
Hill  will  be  the  signal  of  a  new  Revolution  and  of  a  West 
ern  Republic.  But  no!  there  is  little  fear  of  that.  Our 
show  of  force  will  settle  the  matter,  you  may  depend  upon 
it." 

The  two  military  members  of  the  committee,  McFarlane 
and  Luke,  were  not  as  sanguine  of  the  result  as  Bradford. 
But  on  the  whole  they  approved,  and  agreed  to  make  the 
attempt.  What  further  had  he  to  propose? 

Bradford   proceeded  to    enlarge   on   the    Continental 


THE   LATIMERS.  185 

policy  at  the  beginning  of  the  Eevolution  to  seize  the 
forts,  and  thus  capture  the  strategic  points.  Thence  he 
went  on  to  point  out  the  commanding  importance  of  Fort 
Pitt,  and  queried  whether  it  might  not  be  well  as  the  move 
ment  progressed  to  take  the  garrison  there,  and  secure  its 
munitions  of  war. 

"Good  land,  sir!"  cried  Parkinson.  "That  will  be  war, 
open  war!  It  would  cost  many  lives  to  take  Fort  Pitt." 
Major  McFarlane  and  Luke  said  nothing,  but  looked  their 
incredulity.  Bradford  continued: 

"Haven't  forts  been  taken  by  surprise?  There  is  little 
or  no  watch  kept  at  Fort  Pitt  against  the  people.  Nothing 
could  be  easier  than  to  arrange  a  plan  by  which  a  superior 
number  of  determined  men  should  go  inside  the  stockade 
on  a  fixed  day,  and  at  a  concerted  signal  surprise  the 
guards,  seize  the  cannon,  and  capture  the  fort  before  the 
officers  would  even  suspect  that  anything  was  wrong.  It 
is  entirely  practicable,  sirs,  entirely!  Do  you  not  remember 
how  Col.  James  Smith  and  his  eighteen  'Black  Boys'  cap 
tured  Fort  Bedford?  "With  Fort  Pitt  in  our  hands  the  game 
is  ours.  That  would  end  the  era  of  excise  tyranny,  and 
begin  a  new  and  noble  era  of  honor  and  prosperity  for  us 
all." 

Bradford's  plans  might  then  and  there  have  fallen  still 
born,  had  not  an  interruption  occurred  which  gave  them 
vigorous  life  and  set  them  at  once  upon  their  feet.  The 
eagerness  of  conversation  and  the  monotonous  plash  of  the 
falls  had  hindered  the  conspirators  from  hearing  the  sound 
of  horses'  hoofs  beating  upon  the  road,  that  here  follows 
near  the  bed  of  the  stream,  until  the  approaching  horse 
men  were  quite  near.  The  men  ceased  conversation  and 
listened.  The  riders  were  coming  rapidly.  Suddenly  the 
patter  of  hoofs  ceased,  and  a  loud  voice  exclaimed: 

"Hello!  what  the  deuce  does  this  mean?  Here  are  four 
horses  hitched  in  the  brush.  Ay,  and  one  on  'em's  Luke 
Latimer's  bay  filly.  I'd  know  her  among  a  thousand.  And 
t'other  is  Ben  Parkinson's  gray  geldin'.  What's  in  the 
wind  here?  If  them  critters  weren't  stolen,  their  owners 
be'nt  far  off.  Yo — hee!"  The  speaker  raised  his  voice  in 
a  musical  halloo  well  known  thereabouts  as  a  sort  of  quest 
call. 

A  moment  of  silence  followed,  during  which  Bradford 
looked  anxiously  at  his  comrades.  "It's  all  right!"  ex- 


186  THE   LATIMERS. 

claimed  Luke.  "I  know  that  voice  well.  It's  Sandy 
McMichael  of  the  Canonsburg  Democratic  Association,  an' 
he's  true  to  the  cause/'  He  left  his  companions,  ascended 
the  bank  and  greeted  McMichael  and  his  comrade,  whose 
heated  horses  showed  that  they  had  been  riding  rapidly. 

"What  brings  you  here  at  this  gait,  Sandy?  Anny- 
thing  happened?" 

"Ay,  that  there  has.  I've  got  stirrin'  news,  an'  am  on 
the  way  to  Parkinson's  Ferry  with  'em.  But  what  the 
nation  are  you  hyur  for?  And  who's  them  with  you? 
That's  Ben  Parkinson's  horse,  I  know — " 

"An'  the  other,"  interrupted  Luke,  "is  Major  McFar- 
lane's,  an'  they  are  both  just  by,  an'  David  Bradford  is  with 
?em."  A  secret  signal  had  passed  between  the  two  men, 
which  assured  Luke  that  the  third  party  was  to  be  trusted 
with  this  knowledge. 

"Then  by  all  that's  good  and  bad,"  exclaimed  Sandy, 
"they're  the  very  men  that  oughteh  hear  our  news.  "VVhar 
are  they?" 

The  parties  needed  no  summons,  for  already  they  had 
ascended  the  bank,  and  after  brief  greetings  gathered 
around  the  horseman  and  awaited  his  news. 

"Yesterday,"  began  Sandy,  "the  United  States  marshal 
called  at  Miller's  to  sarve  the  last  writ  of  a  large  number 
which  he'd  been  issuin'  agin  the  stillers.  Giner'l  Neville  was 
with  'im,  the  Lord  only  knows  what  for,  onless  to  pilot  the 
federal  sheriff  through  the  woods  to  our  plantations;  or 
mebbe  'twas  only  through  pure  domineerin'  divilishness. 
Miller  was  a-gettin'  in  his  harvest.  It  was  jist  noonin',  an' 
the  harvesters  were  at  dinner,  an'  p'raps  a  little  axcited  by 
drink,  for  it's  roastin'  weather  you  know,  an'  harvestin'  's 
droughty  wark.  They  seemed  to  be  riled  at  the  Inspector's 
prisence,  which  looked  as  if  he  'd  come  out  jist  to  threap 
an'  crow  over  'em.  There  was  hard  words,  a  bit  of  a  row, 
an  old  musket  was  fired  off  in  the  rumpus,  an'  Niville  an' 
the  marshal  rode  off  fancyin'  they'd  been  assaulted,  an' 
talkin'  fierce  about  revolution,  insurraction,  riot  an'  all  sich 
stuff,  an'  a-threatenin'  that  Miller  should  be  arristed  an' 
sent  over  the  mountains  to  Philadelphy. 

"That  angered  Miller  and  his  men.  They  thought  that 
Niville  would  git  out  warrants  agin  'em,  an'  drag  'em  off 
to  Philadelphy  for  trial.  You  know  what  that  manes.  It 
'ud  'a  kep  'im  away  from  wark  through  the  autumn  an* 


THE   LATIMEES.  187 

winter  an'  mebbe  spring.  They  was  a-mind  to  hender  it, 
ef  they  could,  an'  thought  they  could  force  Niville  to  let 
'em  alone.  Th'  axcitement  spread  through  the  neighbor 
hood,  an'  among  some  of  the  militiamen  who  were  gatherin' 
for  the  muster.  By  sundown  John  Holcroft  had  got  thirty 
or  forty  men  around  him,  an'  led  'em  off  to  Niville's  house, 
jist  about  four  miles  from  Miller's." 

"What  did  he  do  that  for?"  interrupted  Bradford. 
"What  right  has  Tom  the  Tinker  to  interfere  in  this  busi 
ness,  and  set  himself  up  as  a  leader?" 

"Can't  say  about  his  rights,"  answered  Sandy.  "But  to 
hear  Holcroft  talk  you  'd  think  he's  the  Captain  Ginerl 
of  the  whole  business;  an'  I  reckon  he  has  stirred  up  affairs 
a  heap.  But  as  fur  as  I  kin  make  out,  his  idee  was  to  make 
old  Niville  disgorge  the  papers  agin'  Miller  an'  others,  an' 
promise  fer  to  give  up  his  commission  an'  let  folk  alone 
in  futur.  Annyhow,  off  he  goes  with  his  troop  to  Niville's, 
not  countin'  on  anny  speecial  trouble.  But  the  Inspector 
had  suspicioned  somethin'  of  that  sort,  mebbe  had  news 
of  what  was  abrewin',  and  had  his  men  an'  darkies  armed. 
As  the  crowd  came  up,  athout  awaitin'  for  attack  or  aven 
parley,  they  fired  on  'em.  It  was  bad  business.  Six  men 
were  wounded  and  one  killed." 

"Dd  they  return  the  fire?"  asked  Luke. 

"They  didn't  seem  to  hev  any  chanct.  It  was  a  one 
sided  affair  all  round;  they  say  they  didn't  aim  to  do  anny 
shootin'  when  they  went.  They  were  tuk  by  surprise  like, 
an'  the  reception  was  so  hot  that  it  tuk  all  sperit  out  of 
'em." 

"And  they  left  athout  an  effort  to  avenge  the  slaughter 
of  their  friends,  did  they?"  cried  Luke,  indignantly. 

"So  it  seems.  And  p'raps  that  was  the  wisest  thing 
for  'em  to  do;  for  folk  say  that  Niville  has  a  cannon  in  his 
entry,  an'  it's  tough  wark  a-facin'  grape  shot.  Annyhow, 
the  neighborhood's  mighty  wrought  up  over  the  affair,  and 
there  '11  be  pipin'  hot  times,  I  fancy,  at  the  militia  muster 
to-morrow." 

"This  is  stirring  news,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Bradford. 
"At  all  events,  whatever  comes  of  it,  that  settles  John 
Holcroft's  presumption  to  be  a  leader  in  the  excise  revolu 
tion.  The  people  will  have  no  more  Tom  Tinkers,  I  prom 
ise  you,  to  lead  expeditions  where  men  of  brains  and  grit 
are  required.  It's  one  thing  to  go  a-sneaking  through  the 


188  THE    LATIMERS. 

country,  plastering  trees  and  taverns  with  squibs  and  pas 
quinades  and  pompous  proclamations,  and  quite  another 
to  organize  and  marshal  a  mighty  revolution.  The  shoe 
maker  to  his  last,  say  I,  and  the  tinker  to  his  pans  and 
soldering  iron!" 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  had  from  the  messen 
gers.  Accordingly  they  were  urged  to  hurry  on  to  Parkin 
son's  with  their  tidings.  As  the  horsemen  disappeared 
around  the  curve  in  the  road,  Bradford  turned  upon  his 
associates  a  face  radiant  with  gratification. 

"Gentlemen/7  he  said,  "could  anything  be  more  fortu 
nate  than  this?  Is  it  like  the  answer  of  fire  to  Elijah  on 
Mount  Carmel.  The  very  thing  has  happened  that  we  have 
been  waiting  for.  Providence  has  given  us  the  signal  to 
go  forward." 

"Humph!"  said  Major  McFarlane;  "I  doubt  ef  Provi 
dence  has  gone  into  cahoots  writh  Mr.  David  Bradford  and 
his  Directory.  I'm  loth  to  think  the  Good  Bein'  has 
killed  off  one  man  and  hurted  five  others  jist  to  set  our 
plans  on  leg.  I  've  no  notion  of  puttin'  Tom  Tinker's 
wretched  bunglin',  nor  our  own  poor  wark,  for  that  matter, 
onto  Providence.  But  this  event  at  Miller's  sartainly  will 
anger  our  people  despertly.  I  know  them  well  enough  for 
that.  They'll  need  lettle  aggin'  on  now  to  march  agin 
Neville's,  for  their  blood  '11  be  up  at  the  shootin'  of  citi 
zens.  But  it's  plain,  sir,  we're  not  agoin'  to  have  a  mere 
taffy  pullin'  out  there  on  Bower  Hill.  Neville's  prepared  to 
resist  all  approach  of  the  citizens,  an'  he'll  likely  be  more 
rather  nor  less  prepared  after  this  affair.  It'll  be  no  child's 
play,  as  some  of  us  '11  be  like  to  find,  to  our  cost." 

All  were  agreed  that  a  new  face  had  suddenly  been  put 
upon  the  situation  by  the  exciting  incident  at  Miller's. 
How  should  it  be  utilized?  There  was  but  one  answer. 
They  would  hold  to  their  plan,  and  bring  the  matter  before 
the  militiamen  on  the  morrow,  and  persuade  the  entire 
regiment  to  march  against  Neville's  house.  Who  should 
command  the  expedition?  That  was  the  only  question 
which  it  seemed  important  to  settle. 

"Manager  Bradford  himself,  of  course!"  said  McFar 
lane. 

"Nay,  nay,  that  cannot  be.  Remember  that  I  am 
prosecuting  attorney  of  this  county.  Were  I  to  be  per 
sonally  present  at  the  affair  I  should  be  placed  in  a  posi- 


THE   LATIMEKS.  189 

tion  which  would  compel  me,  in  case  anything  serious  hap 
pened,  to  be  arrayed  against  my  associates  and  friends.  It 
is  important  for  the  cause  that  I  should  not  show  an  appear 
ance  at  Bower  Hill."  Then  he  laid  his  hand  upon  McFar- 
lane's  shoulder,  and  exclaimed:  "No,  no,  the  leadership  is 
not  for  me.  Thou  art  the  man!" 

McFarlane  shook  off  the  hand  with  an  impatient  ges 
ture,  and  bluntly  refused  the  honor.  Perhaps  his  reverent 
feelings  were  repelled  by  this  lugging  of  sacred  language 
into  such  an  affair.  All  the  more  so  as  he  discerned,  what 
Bradford  had  not  noted,  the  infelicitous  associations  of 
the  text.  He  had  no  fancy  for  the  role  of  a  modern  King 
David  before  such  a  Xatlian  as  the  Washington  lawyer. 

Bradford  insisted  upon  his  point,  playing  upon  such 
feelings  and  hopes  as  seemed  to  his  view  assailable.  The 
trans-Allegheny  State  when  once  formed  would  summon 
to  highest  place  the  men  who  had  led  the  Revolution 
which  achieved  autonomy.  Who  could  tell  what  honors 
might  be  won  by  the  leaders  of  to-morrow's  expedition 
that  is  to  strike  the  first  blow  for  liberty  and  independence  ? 
With  honors  will  come  wealth.  The  Continental  veterans 
were  ill  rewarded  by  the  victorious  colonies.  Perhaps  they 
could  not  help  that,  at  least  at  first;  for  the  Revolutionary 
struggle  left  them  impoverished.  But  they  might  have 
done  better  had  there  been  stronger  purpose  to  sacrifice 
for  the  old  soldiers  who  bore  the  burden  and  heat  of  the 
day.  At  all  events,  many  of  the  veterans  were  poor  men. 
What  was  needed  was  a  new  deal  of  the  cards.  The  men 
who  should  shake  off  the  Philadelphia  and  Quaker  regime, 
and  should  carve  out  a  new  State  from  the  Western 
counties,  would  have  the  cards  in  their  own  hands,  and 
would  see  to  it  that  the  offices  and  rewards  of  success  fell 
to  those  w~ho  had  fairly  earned  them. 

The  two  men  had  gradually  separated  from  their  asso 
ciates,  and  strolled  up  the  road  until  just  opposite  the  falls. 
Here  they  walked  to  and  fro,  and  while  the  dash  and  thud 
of  the  water  kept  monotonous  accompaniment  to  the  gurgle 
of  speech,  Bradford  plied,  with  plausible  words,  arguments 
that  have  always  appealed  with  great  force  to  men's  love 
of  honor  and  reward. 

Behind  the  noblest  purposes  there  lurks  some  form  of 
selfishness,  often  unrecognized  bg  ourselves,  that  holds  the 
balance  of  power  in  our  wills.  Some  of  the  most  potent 


190  THE   LATIMERS. 

factors  of  character  lie  underneath  the  plane  of  conscious 
ness.  Their  existence  is  not  even  suspected  until  at  some 
crisis  they  emerge,  and  decide  the  issues  of  character  and 
life.  Bradford  certainly  had  not  formulated  these  ideas, 
for  he  was  not  a  philosopher.  But  with  the  instinctive 
policy  of  an  ambitious  and  selfish  manager  of  men,  he  spun 
out  his  temptations  as  though  these  ideas  were  to  him  self- 
evident.  Not  with  the  blunt  and  clumsy  directness  here 
set  forth,  but  with  concealed  approach,  with  laterigrade 
advance  and  retrogression,  and  with  antennal  deftness  as 
of  an  emmet  feeling  its  way  in  the  midst  of  supposed  ene 
mies.  McFarlane  gave  little  response,  but  listened  silently, 
walking  beside  his  companion  with  arms  behind  his  back, 
and  troubled  face  bent  upon  the  ground. 

Bradford  shifted  his  ground  of  attack.  Here  was  a  clear 
call  to  duty  and  service.  The  cause  of  liberty  was  assailed. 
The  rights  of  the  people  were  endangered.  Petitions  and 
appeals  had  failed  to  move  the  authorities.  The  purpose  to 
enforce  the  odious  excise  laws  was  plainly  fixed.  Neighbors 
and  fellow  citizens  had  been  butchered  in  cold  blood  as  they 
came  to  remonstrate  against  wrong.  Patriotism  demanded 
some  sacrifice  from  all.  It  was  absurd  to  urge  leadership 
upon  himself.  He  was  only  a  lawyer,  ignorant  of  military 
ways  and  usages.  He  could  serve  his  country  along  his 
own  lines  of  ability,  and  was  trying  to  do  so.  He  would  be 
sure  to  make  a  blunder  and  mess  of  it,  worse  than  Tom 
Tinker  had  done.  But  McFarlane  was  an  experienced  sol 
dier.  Let  him  give  his  tried  ability  to  the  cause.  Was 
it  not  his  destiny?  Had  he  not  been  raised  up  and  quali 
fied  for  just  such  service?  One  ought  not  to  fly  in  the 
face  of  the  clear  will  of  Heaven!  So  they  paused  in  their 
promenade  on  the  brink  of  the  waterfall,  while  the  deep 
silence  of  nature  was  broken  only  by  the  monotonous  beat 
of  the  descending  stream. 

"And  now,"  said  Bradford,  hoping  to  clinch  with 
authority  of  Holy  Scripture  the  nail  he  had  so  well  driven: 
'Who  knoweth  whether  thou  art  come  to  the  Kingdom  for 
such  a  time  as  this?"'  The  text  had  a  surprising  effect, 
but  not  exactly  of  the  sort  that  Bradford  had  anticipated. 

"Deil  take  y'r  preachin'!"  was  the  wrathful  response. 
"When  Sattan  takes  a  text,  the  honest  man  may  well  fly 
the  sarmon.  For  Heaven's  sake,  sir,  cease  off  a-quotin' 
Scriptur  til  me.  I  've  too  much  honor  for  God's  word  to 


THE   LATIMERS.  191 

hear  it  mishandled  this  way,  in  a  matter  like  this,  and  by  a 
man  like  yourself." 

Well,  well,  what  a  mistake  you  have  made,  Mr.  Brad 
ford!  This  is  none  of  good  Father  Clark's  elders,  certes; 
and  it  is  to  be  feared  you  have  upset  the  fat  into  the  fire 
this  time.  But  no!  Has  the  reader  ever  noted  that  some 
men  are  ever  wont  to  take  ways  marked  out  for  them,  pro 
testing,  defiant,  kicking  against  the  goads  that  urge  them 
on?  They  grumble,  but  go.  They  are  never  so  near  the 
yielding  point,  it  often  happens,  as  when  most  vigorously 
declaring  their  purpose  never  to  relent.  An  explosive 
negation  and  outbreak  of  impatience  are  the  signal  of  near 
submission,  as  the  crash  of  thunder  presages  the  breaking 
of  the  clouds  into  grateful  showers.  Patience,  then!  Do 
not  take  this  ebullition  of  temper,  these  poundings  of 
Thor's  hammer,  these  mutterings,  and  oaths  it  may  be, 
as  tokens  of  an  incorrigible  will.  Deal  deftly  with  such 
outbursts  of  soul;  for  a  coarse  and  tactless  touch  will  here 
spoil  all.  Wait.  Above  all,  be  silent.  In  a  little  while  the 
turbulent  one  will  go  hence  and  put  on  his  harness  (your 
harness,  that  is),  and  quietly  ignoring  all  protests  hereto 
fore  made,  pull  kindly  along  the  way  of  your  pleasure. 

So  it  befell  this  struggling  spirit  at  Mingo  Creek  Falls. 
When  the  two  men  rejoined  their  comrades,  Bradford 
announced  that  Major  McFarlane  had  consented  to  take 
military  leadership  of  the  expedition  against  Inspector 
Neville's  house  on  Bower  Hill.  The  Directory  would 
accompany  him — for  was  not  this  the  method  of  the  French 
Revolution? — to  give  counsel  in  all  things,  and  supreme 
decision  in  matters  other  than  military.  But  Bradford 
himself  would  not  be  present  for  reasons  which  they  could 
well  appreciate.  He  was  prosecuting  attorney  of  the 
county.  His  sworn  duty  was  to  take  note  of  all  alleged 
offenses  against  the  law.  As  there  might  be  suits  at  law 
in  the  future  by  Neville  and  his  friends,  though  he  hoped 
not,  it  would  be  to  the  interests  of  his  own  friends  and 
associates  that  he  should  not  be  present.  Thus  then  the 
matter  stood,  and  the  members  of  the  committee  went  their 
several  ways. 


192  THE   LATIMERS. 

CHAPTEE  XXII. 

THE    MAECH    TO    BOWER    HILL. 

On  the  morning  of  July  16,  1794,  Mingo  Church  green 
was  thronged  with  excited  men.  All  who  were  liable  to 
military  duty  had  assembled  from  the  surrounding  district 
to  choose  the  congressional  quota  from  the  Mingo  Creek 
regiment  of  militia.  Few  adult  men  of  the  section  were 
absent;  for  apart  from  the  hearty  response  which  such  duty 
received,  there  was  a  special  attraction  in  the  news  of  the 
Miller  episode.  The  story  had  run  quickly  through  the 
neighborhood  and,  as  usual,  had  waxed  and  grown  more 
lurid  as  it  went.  Men  covered  the  roads,  bridle  paths  and 
trails,  all  headed  toward  Mingo  Church,  discussing  "the 
massacre"  at  Bower  Hill  with  passions  as  hot  as  the  intense 
sun  of  July  that  bea^  down  upon  the  scene.  What  is  there 
in  the  sun  of  July  that  charges  Americans  with  such  excess 
of  passion  that  they  are  touched  off  into  explosions  of  vio 
lence  that  would  have  been  impossible  in  a  cooler  month? 
The  railroad  strike  of  1877  was  a  July  affair.  The  Chicago 
debsomania  of  1894  was  an  event  of  July.  "Was  it  simply 
a  coincidence  that  the  Eevolutionary  fathers  were  wrought 
up  to  a  Declaration  of  Independence  on  a  July  day? 

Several  hundred  men  were  assembled  in  the  little  bowl- 
shaped  dale  wherein  the  Mingo  Church  stood  (and  its  suc 
cessor  now  stands)  sheltered  by  a  natural  grove.  The  two 
front  doors  of  the  low  log  structure  were  open,  and  men 
were  seated  and  standing  within  awaiting  the  beginning  of 
the  public  meeting.  Outside,  the  scene  was  more  animated 
and  picturesque.  Horses  were  picketed  at  every  con 
venient  point  on  the  green,  and  fastened  in  the  hitching 
sheds.  Only  one  spot  was  unoccupied, — the  graveyard  on 
the  hill  slope.  It  lay  just  across  the  road  which  passed 
along  its  edge,  and  winding  through  a  slight  depression 
in  the  hill  led  on  towards  Canonsburg.  Rude  limestone 
slabs  supported  on  columns  placed  over  the  corners  of  the 
graves,  or  head  and  footstones  of  the  same  material  then 
fresh  made  for  the  most  part  but  now  grown  gray*  and 
mossy,  dotted  this  square  of  consecrated  soil,  soon,  alas! 
to  be  opened  for  some  of  those  stalwart  frames  throbbing 
now  with  life  and  hope  and  passions  of  war  and  revenge. 


THE   LATIMERS.  193 

In  the  clear  space  before  the  sheds  and  hard  by  the  little 
creek  stood  a  liberty  pole,  from  which  floated  a  streamer 
bearing  the  ominous  words:  "No  ASYLUM  FOR  TRAITORS 
AND  COWARDS."  Beneath  this  was  a  banner  in  form  of  the 
American  flag,  except  that  the  fifteen  stripes,  then  borne 
upon  the  fly,  had  been  converted  into  six  bars  or  broad 
stripes.  These  symbolized  the  six  Western  counties  of  Penn 
sylvania  and  Virginia  whose  people  were  most  deeply  con 
cerned  in  opposing  the  revenue  laws,  and  out  of  which  the 
new  State  was  to  be  formed.  On  one  of  the  broad  white  bars 
was  printed  the  motto:  "EQUAL  TAXATION  AXD  No  EX 
CISE/'  The  raising  of  a  liberty  pole  is  in  modern  eyes  a 
trivial  affair.  But  it  seems  to  have  been  otherwise  a  hun 
dred  years  ago;  for  this  singularly  harmless  and  once  popu 
lar  pastime  was  one  of  the  serious  tokens  of  treasonable 
intent  urged  by  the  Government  against  the  Western  insur 
rectionists. 

As  this  was  a  gathering  of  the  militia,  all  these  men 
were  armed,  and  many  of  them  uniformed  after  the  rude 
and  miscellaneous  fashion  of  the  frontier.  Hunting  shirts, 
and  remnants  and  variations  of  the  old  continental  uni 
forms  were  most  in  vogue;  but  the  frontier  taste,  or  rather 
lack  of  taste,  had  asserted  itself  in  divers  picturesque  varie 
ties  of  the  prevailing  species.  Major  McFarlane,  now  the 
recognized  leader,  moved  about  quietly,  a  tint  of  paleness 
on  his  swart  visage  despite  the  excitement  and  the  July 
sun,  but  with  no  shadow  of  wavering  thereon.  The  fea 
tures  were  stern  and  with  determined  set,  as  resolved  to 
go  through  with  this  business  now  at  whatever  cost,  and 
make  it  no  child's  play.  He  wore  a  blue  camblet  coat,  buff 
waistcoat,  leather  overalls  and  cocked  hat,  and  was  armed 
with  a  cutlass  whose  belt  hung  from  his  shoulder. 

The  groups  of  excited  men  broke  up  and  dribbled  in  lit 
tle  streamlets  towards  the  meeting  house.  There  was  no 
tumult  within  the  primitive  sanctuary.  Not  that  it  was 
held  in  that  reverence  with  which  many  minds  regard  a 
church  edifice.  To  those  pioneer  settlers  the  House  of 
God  was  also  the  house  of  the  people,  and  served  at  once 
for  Sabbath  worship  and  for  public  meetings  wherein  the 
vital  interests  of  the  community  must  be  discussed.  The 
assemblage  was  composed  of  sober  citizens,  the  bone  and 
sinew  of  the  countrv;  self-contained  and  hardy  characters, 
not  demonstrative  of  manner  nor,  with  a  few  exceptions, 
13 


194  THE   LATIMERS. 

given  to  unseemly  haste  and  passion.  No  doubt  their 
feelings  were  wrought  up  to  a  high  pitch  of  indignation; 
but  they  would  hear  the  facts  and  carefully  determine  their 
action. 

First  of  all  were  brought  forward  matters  of  detail 
relating  to  the  formation  of  the  regimental  contingent, 
the  formal  business  which  had  called  them  together.  Thus 
the  way  was  clear  for  the  subject  that  filled  all  minds,  and 
the  meeting  was  organized  as  a  popular  assembly  to  con 
sider  as  citizens  what  the  crisis  called  for.  The  conclu 
sion  was  as  follows:  That  General  Neville's  conduct  was 
a  betrayal  of  the  community  in  which  he  dwelt;  that  it  was 
treasonable  to  their  true  interests  and  could  not  be  further 
tolerated,  especially  as  he  had  added  thereto  the  killing  and 
wounding  of  citizens.  That  they  would  move  upon  his 
house  the  next  day  to  notify  him  of  the  views  of  his  fellow 
citizens,  and  beg  him  to  desist  in  the  interests  of  peace, 
good  fellowship  and  good  citizenship,  and  join  with  them 
to  protect  their  section  from  tyrannous  and  oppressive 
measures.  Moreover,  they  would  go  in  such  numbers  as 
to  overawe  opposition,  and  armed  to  execute  their  purpose 
should  the  Inspector  prove  intractable.  In  that  case  they 
would  warn  him  that  he  could  no  longer  have  home  and 
harborage  in  the  county;  and  that  he  must  at  once  sur 
render  to  them  his  commission,  and  all  papers  prejudicial 
to  persons  or  properties  of  citizens,  and  within  an  alloted 
time  leave  the  neighborhood.  To  that  end  they  would  ren 
dezvous  the  .next  day  at  Couch's  Fort,  and  Major  McFarlane 
should  be  their  commander. 

Thus  the  meeting  decreed  and  so  adjourned.  The  die 
was  cast.  The  so-called  "Western  Insurrection,"  whose 
fomenting  had  heretofore  broken  forth  in  sporadic  irri 
tations,  with  minor  acts  of  lawlessness  and  rioting,  had 
now  been  drawn  to  a  head.  Some  of  the  citizens  moved 
away  slowly,  with  grave  demeanor  and  thoughtful  face  and 
troubled  hearts.  Others  marched  off  in  high  spirits,  with 
laughter  and  jocose  speech,  and  cheers,  and  loud  threats, 
and  high  hopes,  and  serene  unconsciousness  that  disaster 
and  defeat  might  come,  and  of  what  would  be  the  conse 
quence. 

Couch's  Fort  was  an  abandoned  log  fortress  erected 
in  earlier  days  for  refuge  against  Indian  incursions.  It 
stood  on  the  south  trail  leading  up  to  the  old  Washington 


THE   LATIMEKS.  195 

and  Pittsburg  road,  on  the  north  branch  of  McLaughlin's 
Run.  It  was  about  half  a  quarter  of  a  mile  west  of  Bethel 
Church,  which  still  stands,  with  its  ancient  graveyard, 
upon  the  over-hanging  hill,  and  looks  down  upon  the 
McKeesport  road.  The  creek  is  hard  by,  for  convenience 
to  running  water  was  a  necessary  condition  in  choosing 
a  site  for  fort  or  church.  It  was  four  miles  distant  from 
the  Inspector's  house,  and  the  road  thereto  lies  through  a 
rolling  upland  which  breaks  down  at  Bower  Hill,  a  high 
crest  on  which  Gen.  Neville  had  reared  his  spacious  man 
sion. 

Five  hundred  armed  men  were  now  marching  afoot  or 
on  horseback  over  that  road  among  the  hills  of  Washington 
County.  Half-finished  clearings  lay  on  either  side  of  the 
Virginia  worm-fences.  Here,  a  bit  of  virgin  forest  shaded 
the  way;  there,  lay  a  yellow  stubble  field  dotted  with 
shocks  of  wheat  garbs.  Again,  among  the  tree  stumps 
would  appear  a  patch  of  potatoes;  or  a  field  of  Indian  corn, 
whose  broad  green  blades  and  yellowy  brown  tassels  waved 
in  the  light  breeze,  and  glistened  under  the  sun  with  a 
seeming  joyous  eagerness  for  its  hottest  beams.  Nestled 
under  the  hills,  where  the  limestone  springs  bubble  forth 
or  the  clear  brooklets  run,  were  the  log  cabins  of  the  set 
tlers.  Women  with  babes  in  their  arms  stood  at  the  doors 
waving  greetings  to  the  passing  cavalcade,  alas,  often  with 
heavy  hearts.  Lusty  children  ran  down  to  the  road,  and 
cheered  from  very  exuberance  of  animal  spirits,  or  mere 
effervescence  of  joy  in  the  excitement  and  hubbub,  know 
ing  little  and  caring  less  for  their  cause.  How  the  men 
cheered  back  again! — and  greeted  the  ruddy  lads  and  lasses 
with  smiles  and  pleasant  chaffing  words,  with  a  touch  of 
tenderness  within  their  voices,  as  though  there  had  ob 
truded  the  query:  What  if  to-morrow  some  of  these  or 
our  own  bairns,  mayhap,  should  be  fatherless? 

They  have  reached  the  summit  whence  the  prospect 
stretches  over  hills  and  valleys,  far  and  away  on  every  side, 
as  noble  a  view  indeed  as  Moses  got  from  Pisgah.  The 
column  has  halted.  What  is  the  matter?  Some  mes 
senger?  No!  Crowd  up  to  the  van  now!  Horses  and  fooc- 
men  are  forming  in  the  road  under  this  overshadowing 
walnut  tree,  a  living  crescent  whose  cusps  are  thrust  across 
the  rail  fence  into  the  adjoining  field.  The  centre  of  the 
crowd  is  there  where  the  roots  of  the  great  tree  have  been 


196  THE   LATIMEKS. 

cut  to  make  space  in  the  roadway,  which  runs  several  feet 
beneath. 

Here,  on  the  grassy  interspace  between  the  humped 
backs  of  the  main  roots  where  they  unite  with  the  vast 
trunk,  stands  a  venerable  figure  upon  whom  all  eyes  are 
fixed.  It  is  Father  John  Clark,  the  first  pastor  of  Bethel, 
who  shares  his  bishopric  jointly  with  the  Mingo  Creek 
congregation.  For  thirteen  years  he  has  gone  in  and  out 
before  these  people,  revered  and  beloved  by  his  parish 
ioners,  esteemed  and  venerated  by  all  who  know  him.  In 
appearance  he  is  a  spare  man  almost  to  leanness;  is  above  the 
ordinary  height,  somewhat  stooped  by  the  weight  of  his 
seventy-six  years;  of  grave  and  solemn  demeanor.  He 
wears  the  old-fashioned  dress  of  the  clergymen  of  his  time, 
a  black  suit  with  breeches,  and  silver  buckles  clasping  his 
black  stockings  at  the  knees.  His  hat  is  held  in  one  hand, 
thus  uncovering  long  white  hair,  combed  back  from  the 
forehead  and  worn  in  a  queue,  a  bit  of  old-time  dignity 
from  which  even  the  unconventional  manners  of  the  fron 
tier  could  not  dissuade  him.  The  pallor  of  age  is  height 
ened  upon  his  bloodless  cheeks  by  the  intense  emotion 
which  possesses  him  as  he  stretches  out  one  hand,  and  lifts 
up  his  voice. 

Thus  he  stood  like  an  ancient  prophet,  with  the  spirit 
and  burden  of  prophecy  shining  from  his  eyes  and  burning 
in  his  speech.  His  tones  were  weak  and  trembling,  but 
they  deepened  and  grew  stronger  as  he  advanced  in  his 
speech.  A  sabbath  stillness  fell  upon  the  throng  as  they 
listened  to  this  man  of  God  who  had  stopped  them  there 
as  Elijah  did  Ahab  of  old;  as  Shemaiah  did  Rehoboam. 

"Brethren,  fellow  citizens  and  friends,"  he  cried;  "I 
have  come  to  raise  my  feeble  voice  against  the  business  of 
this  day.  I  cannot  forbear  speech.  Duty,  conscience,  my 
office,  the  Spirit  of  our  Divine  Lord  and  Master,  a  high  and 
loving  concern  for  your  temporal  and  spiritual  good,  all 
compel  me  to  warn  you  not  to  persist  in  your  hostile  pur 
pose.  You  are  in  the  way  of  rebellion;  and  rebellion  is  as 
the  sin  of  witchcraft.  You  are  going  with  evil  intent  to  shed 
blood;  and  it  is  written  'Thou  shalt  not  kill/  I  know  that 
you  feel  yourselves  aggrieved  by  the  Government,  and  you 
believe  that  your  quarrel  with  Gen.  Neville  and  his  excise 
officers  is  a  just  one.  I  will  not  discuss  that  question  here. 
It  may  be  true  that  they  have  bound  heavy  burdens  and 


THE   LATIMERS.  197 

grievous  to  be  borne,  and  laid  them  on  men's  shoulders. 
It  may  be  that  they  scorn  your  petitions,  and  will  not  move 
your  sore  burdens  with  one  of  their  fingers.  But,  consider 
this,  my  friends,  no  wrong  can  be  righted  by  the  doing  of 
greater  wrong.  Your  act  is  one  of  war,  disguise  it  as  you 
may.  War  upon  officers  of  the  United  States,  war  upon  its 
laws,  war  upon  its  Government,  war  upon  the  great  and 
good  Washington.  You  do  not  mean  that?  Truly  not! 

"Have  you  thought  what  the  issue  may  be?  Suppose 
you  banish  Gen.  Neville?  Will  it  end  there?  Alas,  you 
yourselves,  like  King  David  of  old,  may  be  driven  into 
exile,  weeping  and  lamenting  as  you  go.  Suppose  you 
destroy  Gen.  Neville's  house?  Do  you  think  the  matter 
will  end  there?  Bewa.re  lest  your  own  houses  be  left  unto 
you  desolate.  You  think  that  the  Inspector  will  not  openly 
resist  you?  Do  not  be  deceived!  Bethink  you  what  your 
selves  would  do  in  like  estate.  He  is  a  man  of  like  blood 
and  passions  with  yourselves,  a  man  of  war  from  his  youth, 
who  has  waxed  valiant  in  fight  heretofore.  He  is  armed 
himself,  and  has  armed  his  family  and  slaves,  like  Abra 
ham  of  old  when  he  went  against  the  kings  of  Sodom. 
This  day  will  not  be  without  shedding  of  blood  if  you  do 
not  turn  back.  Eeturn  to  your  homes  ere  it  be  too  late! 
Remember  the  word  of  God,  an  awful  word  to  you  this 
day:—77 

Here  the  venerable  speaker  dropped  his  hat  to  the 
ground  and  stretched  forth  both  hands  to  the  people.  Mov 
ing  slowly  his  eyes  around  the  circle  of  upturned  faces 
he  fixed  them  for  a  moment, — was  it  by  the  merest  acci 
dent? — upon  the  spot  where  Major  McFarlane  was  seated 
upon  his  horse,  surrounded  by  his  lieutenants  and  the 
members  of  the  committee.  Then  he  finished  his  sentence 
— 'They  that  take  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword/ 

"God  forbid,  my  brethren  and  friends,  God  forbid  that 
any  of  you  should  throw  your  lives  away  in  such  a  quarrel. 
Your  leaders  are  self -deceived.  They  are  deceiving  you. 
They  are  blind  leaders  of  the  blind;  and,  alas,  you  shall 
both  fall  into  the  ditch  unless  you  heed  these  words  of  holy 
warning.  Eemember  your  solemn  duty  to  your  country. 
Remember  the  oaths  of  allegiance  that  so  many  of  you 
have  sworn  in  the  noble  and  patriotic  days  that  tried  men's 
souls  in  the  struggle  for  Independence.  Remember  your 
wives  and  children  who  this  night  may  be  widows  and 


198  THE   LATIMEES. 

fatherless.  Eemember  your  homes  and  plantations  placed 
in  peril  of  loss  by  this  day's  doing! 

"Oh,  my  friends, "hear  me!  I  speak  out  of  love  for  you 
and  yours,  your  bodies  and  your  souls.  You  have  never  had 
cause  to  doubt,  you  have  never  doubted  my  love  for  you, 
and  zeal  in  your  behalf.  I  would  lay  down  this  life  for  you 
if  I  might  purchase  your  assent  to  my  pleading,  and  thus 
seal  my  testimony  with  my  blood.  Out  of  this  love  and 
zeal  I  speak  to  you,  I  plead  with  you,  I  warn  you!  Hear 
me,  brethren,  hear  me!  Turn  ye,  turn  ye,  for  why  will  ye 
die,  0  house  of  Israel!" 

The  patriarch  ceased,  and  dropping  his  arms,  closed 
his  hands  before  him  and  with  bowed  head  stood  in  silent 
prayer.  The  hush  that  had  fallen  upon  the  audience  was 
broken  by  many  sighs.  Then  followed  the  stir  of  shuffling 
bodies,  as  is  wont  after  an  eloquent  passage  of  speech  or 
song.  The  men  turned  and  looked  at  one  another  with 
mute  inquiry,  as  much  as  to  say,  "shall  W3  go  on?"  Many 
faces  had  a  subdued  and  awe-struck  visage,  as  when  men 
are  impressed  with  a  supernatural  presence.  Was  not  this  a 
warning  from  the  Most  High?  Dare  they  despise  the  coun 
sel  of  this  venerable  man  of  God?  A  word  from  any  leader 
of  good  repute  would  have  changed  the  whole  current  of 
their  purpose,  and  have  turned  that  company  back  to  their 
homes.  But  it  was  not  spoken. 

Major  McFarlane  dismounted  from  his  horse  and  ap 
proached  the  aged  minister.  He  took  the  pastor's  hand 
and  pressed  it  warmly.  "Father  Clark,"  he  said,  "we 
thank  you  for  your  loving  interest  in  us  all.  We  know 
truly  that  you  belave  all  you  have  said,  and  have  spoken  for 
our  good  as  you  see  it.  We  riverence  you  as  a  man,  and 
honor  you  as  a  meenister,  and  in  all  things  spiritooal  we 
are  ready  to  give  'arnest  heed  and  following.  But  this  is 
a  secular  affair  that  concerns  the  laity  more  nor  the 
clargy.  In  sich  matters  it  is  no  discredit  to  you  to  think 
that  we  may  trust  our  own  judgment  and  axperience.  We 
have  maturely  considered  all  that  you  have  told  us,  an' 
we  have  not  acted  hastily.  We  have  solemnly  covenanted 
together  to  right  this  wrong,  an'  we  must  go  for'ard. 
Were  we  to  turn  back  now,  we  would  be  ontrue  to  our  own 
convictions,  an'  would  be  the  laughin'  stock  of  all  the 
warld. 

"Comrades,"   he   cried,   lifting  his  voice  and   gazing 


THE   LATIMERS.  199 

around  him,  "how  could  we  face  our  fellow  citizens,  an' 
meet  the  jeers  of  our  inimies  were  we  after  all  this  parade 
an'  pomp,  to  sneak  back  to  our  homes,  like  a  lot  o'  wayward 
children  afore  the  rebuke  of  a  schoolmaster?"  Then  bow 
ing  gravely  before  the  minister,  and  bidding  him  a  hearty 
farewell,  he  remounted  his  horse. 

"Attention!  Forward!"  he  cried,  and  the  column 
moved  slowly  down  the  road. 

"This  is  pride,"  murmured  Father  Clark,  as  McFarlane 
turned  away.  "Sinful  pride!  And  pride  goeth  before 
destruction,  and  the  haughty  spirit  before  a  fall.  May 
Heaven  save  and  shield  you,  my  poor,  erring  flock!" 

A  few  gathered  around  the  venerable  man,  and  assured 
him  that. they  would  heed  his  voice  and  return  to  their 
homes.  Others  as  they  passed  grasped  his  hand,  and  with 
moist  eyes  besought  his  prayers,  and  invoked  a  blessing 
on  his  gray  head.  Not  a  man,  as  the  column  moved  by, 
failed  to  remove  hat  or  cap  before  the  good  and  faithful 
pastor,  and  many  wished  that  they  might  with  honor  fol 
low  his  advice.  But  how  dare  they?  The  pride  of  self- 
consistency  has  a  firm  lodgment  in  man's  soul,  and  when 
allied,  as  it  commonly  is,  with  the  fear  of  ridicule,  is  respon 
sible  for  many  of  his  follies  and  not  a  few  of  his  misfor 
tunes  and  even  crimes.  He  is  a  man  of  finer  mold  and 
higher  mettle  than  common  who  can  break  away  from 
courses  that  he  knows  are  wrong,  and  separate  himself 
from  his  associates  in  the  face  of  their  jibes,  their  ill  will 
and  abuse,  or  even  in  fear  thereof.  Our  social  world  may 
have  a  narrow  horizon,  and  lie  on  never  so  low  a  plane, 
but,  withal,  its  public  opinion  is  well  nigh  omnipotent  with 
most  of  us;  and  the  terror  of  being  branded  as  heretic, 
traitor,  turncoat,  scab,  or  what  not,  is  mightier  to  us  than 
the  voice  of  God.  Count  it  no  marvel  then  that  these  men 
of  Mingo  Creek,  each  one  fearing  and  not, knowing  his  fel 
low's  opinions,  followed  the  leader  of  the  hour's  tumult, 
and  turned  their  backs  upon  the  holy  man  who  had  so  long 
been  the  prophet  of  their  better  selves. 

McFarlane  halted  his  column  in  the  woods  half  a  mile 
from  Neville's,  and  there  picketing  the  horses  marched 
afoot  to  the  house.  Gen.  Neville's  mansion  was  the  finest 
in  the  western  country,  much  of  its  material  having  been 
brought  from  the  East  and  England  by  the  tedious  trans 
portation  methods  of  the  time.  It  was  a  large  wooden 


200  THE    LATIMERS. 

house,  a  single  story  and  a  half  in  height,  with  wide  halls, 
and  broad  verandah  covering  two  sides,  after  the  style  of 
old  Virginia  houses.  It  stood  on  the  crest  of  a  hill  that 
looks  westward  across  steep  wooded  slopes  that  descend  to 
Chartiers  Creek,  which  encircles  its  base  and  was  crossed 
then  as  it  is  now  by  a  bridge.  Beyond  lay  the  Valley  of  the 
Chartiers,  a  broken  and  rolling  plain  bounded  by  environ 
ing  hills. 

On  the  opposite  bank  of  the  creek  and  almost  directly 
facing  it,  stood  and  still  stands  Woodville,  the  house  of  Col. 
Presley  Neville,  the  Inspector's  son,  who  had  shared  with 
his  father  the  dangers  and  honors  of  the  Eevolutionary 
War.  A  broad  straight  avenue  or  open  look-way  had  been 
cut  through  the  forest  on  the  hillside  by  trimming  out 
branches  and  lopping  off  treetops.  This  left  an  open 
space  through  which,  from  the  upper  windows  of  either 
house,  the  other  could  be  seen,  and  the  two  families  could 
signal  one  another.  For  exchanging  the  ordinary  wants 
and  happenings  of  related  households,  a  code  of  signals  had 
been  arranged. 

The  advancing  host  emerged  from  the  woods  and 
ascended  the  Neville  hills,  carrying  in  the  van  their  flag 
with  its  six  broad  bars.  As  the  flank  of  the  column  swept 
around  to  the  west,  a  woman's  form  was  seen  standing  in 
the  gabled  window  under  the  peak  of  the  roof,  waving  a 
white  cloth.  It  seemed  a  senseless  act  to  the  most  part  of 
the  company,  but  was  not  without  grave  meaning  to  a  few 
who  knew  the  fashions  of  the  Neville  family.  Toward  the 
east  and  south,  Bower  Hill,  the  name  of  Gen.  Neville's 
place,  but  especially  given  to  the  elevation  on  which  the 
mansion  stood,  rolls  rather  abruptly,  forming  a  short  ra 
vine.  Through  this  runs  a  narrow  stream,  fed  by  a  spring 
whereat  the  traveler,  if  he  will,  may  still  quench  his  thirst 
as  did  the  Mingo  Creek  militiamen  on  that  fateful  day. 
Along  the  western  slope  were  built  the  cabins  or  quarters 
of  the  negro  slaves,  and  nearby,  where  the  lap  of  the  hill 
closes  the  ravine,  stood  the  distillery,  an  establishment 
deemed  necessary  to  every  considerable  plantation.  Fac 
ing  this,  so  as  to  form  the  rude  outlines  of  two  sides  of  a 
hollow  square,  were  the  barns  and  stables.  Thus  the  house 
was  well  protected  from  these  directions,  and  assailants 
were  exposed  to  an  enfilading  fire. 

McFarlane  saw  at  once  that  his  movements  were  not  a 


THE   LATIMERS.  201 

surprise.  The  peaceful  home  on  Bower  Hill  had  become 
a  citadel.  Uniformed  soldiers  from  Fort  Pitt  garrison 
were  on  guard  upon  the  porches.  In  the  negro  quarters, 
in  the  barn,  and  in  the  distillery,  sturdy  slaves  were  en 
trenched,  armed  and  officered  by  members  of  the  family, 
by  the  white  laborers,  or  by  the  soldiers.  As  these  struc 
tures  were  built  of  heavy  logs,  they  afforded  a  formidable 
defense.  The  situation  needed  no  interpreter.  It  was 
plain  that  Gen.  Neville  had  been  informed  of  the  expedi 
tion,  had  prepared  his  retainers  for  the  assault,  and  had 
summoned  troops  from  the  garrison,  in  which  Major  Kirk* 
patrick  and  his  son-in-law,  Major  Craig,  both  officers  of 
the  United  States  army,  would  be  only  too  ready  to  assist. 
In  fact,  although  it  was  not  then  known  to  the  assailants, 
Major  Kirkpatrick  was  himself  within  the  house,  serving 
with  musket  as  a  common  soldier. 

"We  shall  have  warem  work  the  day,  I  doubt,"  said 
McFarlane  to  Latimer,  as  the  troops  were  taking  their 
positions. 

"Ay,  it  does  promise  that,"  said  Luke.  "Neville's  a 
wise  old  coon  and  not  'asy  to  catch  nappin'.  But  there's 
nothin'  for  it  now  but  to  go  ahead  and  trust  to  luck.  Yet 
he  is  too  good  a  soldier,  one  would  think,  to  wager  battle 
agin  sich  a  force  as  our'n.  There's  not  more'n  a  dozen 
soldiers,  as  I  count,  and  the  blacks  are  poor  fighters,  aveii 
behint  shelter.  Mayhap  the  Giner'l  '11  ccme  to  tarms  after 
all.  Leastways  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  try  him.  Shall 
we  send  a  flag  of  truce  to  the  house?" 

Yes,  the  Commander  so  wished;  and  so  decreed  the 
Directory,  who  held  counsel  apart  on  a  commanding  knoll 
out  of  gun-shot.  Accordingly,  three  men  of  good  standing 
in  the  county  were  sent  forward  carrying  a  white  handker 
chief  on  a  ramrod,  the  troops  resting  on  their  arms  and 
eagerly  watching  the  result.  Lieut.  Burd,  who  at  his  own 
request  had  been  put  in  command  of  the  squad  of  eleven 
men  sent  from  Pittsburg,  advanced  beyond  the  garden 
palings  and  awaited  the  messengers. 

"What  is  your  will,  gentlemen?"  asked  the  officer. 

"We  wish  a  personal  interview  with  Inspector  Neville 
on  matters  of  most  serious  public  concern." 

"I  have  to  say,  gentlemen,  that  Gen.  Neville  is  not  at 
home,  and  his  family  and  premises  are  for  the  time  being 
under  my  charge  as 'an  officer  of  the  United  States  army. 


202  THE    LATIMEES. 

May  I  ask  you  to  state  your  business,  and  for  what  reason 
a  peaceable  household  is  thus  threatened  and  surrounded 
by  a  host  of  armed  men?" 

"Sir/'  was  the  answer,  "we  have  no  quarrel  with  you, 
and  our  business  is  such  as  you  cannot  transact.  But  as 
Gen.  Neville  is  absent,  we  demand  admission  to  his  house 
and  possession  of  his  public  papers/' 

"Gen.  Neville's  public  papers  are  not  his,"  was  the 
reply,  "but  property  of  the  Government  which,  as  its  repre 
sentative,  I  am  here  to  preserve.  I  must  deny  you  entrance 
to  the  house  unless  you  will  come  in  simply  to  share  the 
family's  hospitality.  Moreover,  let  me  warn  you  to  desist 
from  further  threatening  and  annoyance.  My  orders  are 
to  spare  the  shedding  of  blood  if  possible,  but  to  defend 
these  premises  at  whatever  risk." 

Here  the  interview  ended.  Lieut.  Burd  returned  to  the 
house,  from  whose  porches  and  windows  the  guard  and  in 
mates  had  anxiously  looked  upon  though  they  could  not 
hear  the  interview.  The  messengers  withdrew  to  a  wide- 
spreading  sugar  maple  just  beyond  the  lines,  and  reported 
to  the  Directory. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  Directory,"  said  McFarlane,  "what 
will  you  do?  You  doubt  the  statement  that  Gen.  Neville 
has  lied  from  his  home.  Sartainly  he  is  not  the  man  to 
shirk  danger  or  responsibility,  whativer  his  faults  may  be. 
At  laste,  you  doubt  that  his  public  papers,  which  you  are 
especially  intint  on  gettin'  intil  your  han?s,  have  been 
removed.  Very  well,  are  you  still  resolved  to  have  them?" 

"We  are!" 

"There  is  nothin'  for  it  then,"  quoth  McFarlane,  "but 
to  advance  our  lines  an'  take  the  house  by  storm.  Farther 
dallyin'  is  a  waste  of  time.  I  shall  order  the  assault  at 
once.  I'm  sorry  indade  to  expose  our  men.  I  fear,  poor 
fellows,  that  some  of  'em  will  fall;  but  I  shall  first  advance 
upon  the  cabins  and  barns,  an'  inunder  cover  of  the  open 
grove  on  this  side  of  the  ravine.  After  that — " 

His  speech  was  interrupted  by  Luke  Latimer,  who  had 
been  watching,  with  swiftly  changing  emotions  of  wonder, 
indignation  and  anxiety,  the  approach  of  a  tall  soldier  in 
a  green  hunting  shirt. 

"Good  heavens,  John  Latimer!  What  brought  you 
here?" 

John  came  up  and  shook  Luke's  hand.     Then  bowing 


THE    LATIMERS. 

courteously  to  the  gentlemen  of  the  Directory  standing 
around:  "I  hope  I  am  here  for  no  harm.  Surely  a  son  may 
follow  where  the  father  leads  ?" 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt !"  exclaimed  Luke,  blushing  at 
the  retort.  "But  it  is  well  known,  John,  that  you  have 
scant  sympathy  with  your  father  in  the  matters  now  on 
hand;  and  it  is  my  mind  that  you  beeta  be  away  from 
here/' 

"Come,"  broke  in  McFarlane,  who  had  indeed  given  lit 
tle  heed  to  the  conversation,  his  mind  being  concerned 
with  more  serious  affairs;  "we  have  no  time  to  lose  in 
talkin'.  We  have  now  another  duty  to  attind  to.  We  make 
no  war  on  women  folk.  Neville's  family  are  in  the  house, 
if  the  Gineral  isn't.  We  must  send  another  flag  of  truce  to 
notify  the  women  to  retire,  and  to  offer  them  safe  conduct 
beyant  the  lines,  perhaps  to  Col.  Neville's  acrost  the 
creek." 

"Let  me  have  that  service,  Major!"  said  John  Latimer, 
eagerly.  "Father,  you  are  one  of  the  Directory;  give  your 
assent.  I  admit  that  I  came  here  on  an  errand  of  peace, 
not  war;  and  this  is  a  peaceful  errand,  and  wholly  at  one 
with  both  my  taste  and  conscience.  I  beg  you  to  let  me 
go." 

No  one  objected.  McFarlane  was  pleased  to  send  a 
man  like  John  on  such  a  duty,  and  Luke  assented  as 
eagerly  as  John  had  asked.  Would  it  not  take  the  lad  out 
of  harm's  way?  Was  it  not  a  very  godsend  to  free  him  from 
all  complicity  with  a  deed  which  promised  to  make  no  small 
stir  in  the  country?  "Ay,  let  him  go,  and  see  the  ladies 
safely  acrost  Chartiers  Creek."  And  Luke  inwardly  prayed 
that  it  might  be  a  long  journey  and  a  late  return. 

Thus,  parental  affection,  in  whatever  speech  or  language 
its  voice  is  heard,  utters  the  same  unselfish  sentiment. 
Whatever  perilous  emprise  duty  or  self-will  or  necessity 
urges  us  to  risk  our  own  lives  or  honors  thereon,  we  would 
fain  shield  our  offspring  from  the  same.  A  venture  seems 
a  light  affair  to  ourselves  until  we  see  a  child  going  into  it. 
Dear  heart!  then  it  straightway  dons  another  and  more 
woeful  visage.  Perhaps  the  reader  may  share  with  Luke 
Latimer  the  wonder  how  John  Latimer  came  thus  sud 
denly  upon  the  scene?  Therefore  we  may  pause  here  and 
preface  our  further  history  with  the  telling. 


204  THE   LATIMERS. 

CHAPTEE  XXIII. 

JOHN"  LATIMER  TAKES  UP   THE   EOLE   OF   KNIGHT   ERRANT. 

John  Latimer,  Mort  Sheldon  and  Panther  had  been 
sent  early  in  June  on  a  scouting  expedition  into  the  north 
ern  parts  of  Ohio.  Gen.  Wayne  wished  to  know  the  plans 
and  movements  of  the  Indians  of  that  section,  that  he 
might  advance  with  more  confidence  along  the  western 
frontier  of  the  territory  to  strike  a  decisive  blow  against 
the  combined  tribes  in  the  Northwest.  Thence,  the  in 
structions  ran,  having  sent  one  of  their  number  to  report, 
the  scouts  were  to  proceed  to  the  Muskingum,  and  there 
await  Luke  Latimer  and  others  who  would  join  them  about 
the  middle  of  July.  Thence  again  they  were  to  move  west 
ward  and  unite  with  Capt.  Wells's  company  of  scouts,  and 
co-operate  with  Wayne's  Legion  in  the  general  movement 
against  the  hostiles. 

The  scouting  party  having  finished  its  work,  Sheldon 
started  west  with  the  report,  and  John  and  Panther  pro 
ceeded  to  the  rendezvous.  There  they  were  met  by  a  mes 
sage  from  Gen.  Wayne  ordering  them  to  Fort  Pitt  on 
secret  service.  Exaggerated  rumors  of  the  state  of  affairs 
in  the  western  counties  of  Pennsylvania  had  caused  Wayne 
uneasiness.  He  feared  that  such  tumults  around  the  head 
waters,  of  the  Ohio  might  interfere  with  his  supplies  from 
the  East,  and  encourage  the  pacific  tribes  to  take  the  war 
path.  He  therefore  sought  authentic  information  both 
from  the  commandant  of  the  garrison  and  from  the  per 
sonal  observation  of  his  scouts.  Thus  John  and  Panther 
were  unexpectedly  found  at  Pittsburg.  There  the  Mingo 
awaited  the  preparation  of  the  official  packet,  and  John 
hastened  to  Canonsburg  to  see  his  parents. 

Mrs.  Polly  Latimer,  who  was  preparing  an  early  mid 
day  meal,  suddenly  found  herself  clasped  in  the  arms  of  a 
stalwart  young  man,  and  had  lifted  up  her  voice  to  cry  and 
her  hands  to  smite,  ere  she  recognized  her  son.  Then  fol 
lowed  loving  kiss  and  joyful  embrace,  with  tears  aplenty, 
for  indeed  the  good  woman  was  highly  wrought  up. 

And  was  father  at  home? 

"No,  indade  not!    He  is  rarely  at  home  nowadays,  but 


THE   LATIMEBS.  205 

stravagin'  the  county,  a-traipsin'  here  an'  there  at  beck 
an'  nod  of  that  pettifoggin'  Ahithophel  Dave  Bradford, 
an7  that  shilly-shally,  milk-an'-water  Tom  Marshall. 
They're  all  heels  over  head  in  the  axcise  troubles;  an'  you 
may  know  how  ill  it  fares  with  your  father  whin  aven  his 
own  business  matters  are  all  through  other;  for  he  has  iver 
been  canny  and  careful  with  sich  affairs.  Ahbut,  ietabee 
with  that  matter  ontil  you've  dined;  for  belike  you've  not 
had  a  dacent  mayl  sence  ye  left  home." 

Already  Mrs.  Polly  had  been  making  a  radical  change 
in  her  menu;  for  women  are  commonly  content  with  picked 
up  meals  when  they  have  only  themselves  to  cater  for. 
But  the  advent  of  men  folk  quit 3  transforms  affairs;  for  the 
male  of  the  genus  homo  loves  heartier  feeding  than  his 
mate;  a  fact  which  mothers  and  wives  instinctively  discern 
and  duly  respect.  John  looked  on  the  while,  and  giving 
forth  bits  of  information  as  to  his  late  whereabouts,  sniffed 
the  savory  messes  preparing  with  the  high  satisfaction  of  a 
normal  manly  appetite.  Having  appeased  his  hunger,  he 
insisted  on  knowing  more  about  his  father's  doings,  for 
his  mother  dropped  forth  hints  throughout  the  meal  that 
betokened  something  serious. 

"Where  is  he  at  ?"  quoth  Mrs.  Polly.  "Deed  it's  more'n 
I  can  rightly  tell;  but  that  he's  at  no  good  you  may  be 
bound,  since  he's  off  a-axcisin'.  But  I  can  talk  as  I  redd 
up  the  things;  so  sit  you  there  and  rest,  for  I  misdoubt  it's 
lettle  comfort  you  've  had  lately.  Good  Lord  presarve  us! 
What  with  the  Indians  and  the  axcise  there's  no  p'ace  for 
women  nowadays.  But  it  behoves  to  be  resigned  and  quiet, 
I  suppose,  for  a  booin'  and  cryin'  woman  '11  mend  no  man's 
manners.  But  men's  ways  are  awful  aggravatin'  for  all 
that,  an'  the  best  on  'em's  contrairy  at  times,  and  as  skit 
tish  to  handle  as  a  yearlin'  colt." 

She  smoothed  down  her  apron  until  her  hand  reached 
the  corners,  then  gathered  them  up  into  a  lump  and  flung 
the  ends  forth  (after  her  fashion  when  excited),  as  if  she 
shook  bits  of  rubbish  away. 

"Not  that  I  have  aught  to  say  agin'  Latimer,  leastways 
to  his  son.  But  I'm  sore  troubled  about  him,  to  spake  the 
honest  truth;  an'  I've  had  no  one  sence  you've  been  gone 
to  sympathize  with  or  talk  to  about  him;  an'  to  talk  to 
etrangers  I  will  not,  for  it's  ill  wark  to  wash  one's  foul 
linen  in  public.  But  not  to  beat  about  the  bush  anny 
furder  this  is  jist  how  it  stands." 


206  THE    LATIMEES. 

Thereupon  Mrs.  Polly  recited  in  her  own  racy  way  the 
events  of  the  last  few  weeks,  giving  an  account  of  the  Miller 
affair, and  the  Mingo  Creek  meeting, or  as  much  of  it  as  she 
had  managed  to  extract  from  her  husband.  That,  how 
ever,  was  about  all  that  the  reader  knows,  except  some  of 
the  secret  caucusing  at  the  Falls,  and  the  keen-witted 
woman  gave  a  shrewd  guess  at  that. 

"This  is  news  indeed!"  quoth  John,  who  had  fol 
lowed  the  narrative  with  great  attention. 

"Ay  I"  his  mother  answered.  "An'  now  he's  gone  off 
long  afore  daylight  a-randyvooin'  at  Couch's  Fort  with 
Major  McFarlane  of  the  Mingo  Creek  rigiment.  He's  wan 
of  the  Directory,  your  father  is — God  save  the  mark! — an' 
Bradford  at  the  head — who  but  he,  forsooth?  It's  mighty 
lettle  directin'  anny  on  'em  '11  do,  with  Dave  Bradford's 
sly  hand  at  the  helm.  0  that  man!  He's  like  the  ship's 
governor  in  the  Good  Book,  and  turns  ship  and  crew  to  an' 
fro  whithersoever  he  listeth.  Jist  to  think  of  it!  Five 
hunder  men,  Latimer  says,  armed  to  the  teeth,  are 
a-marchin'  to-day  agin  Ginerl  Neville's  house,  an'  Heaven 
ordy  knows  what  '11  be  the  outcome  of  it  all!" 

"What!  This  is  serious  business!"  exclaimed  John. 
"This  sounds  like  war  and  rebellion.  And  father  at  the 
head  of  it?  Oh,  if  you  could  only  have  kept  him  out  of  this 
affair!" 

"Kape  Luke  Latimer  out  when  he's  bent  on  goin'  intil 
a  thing!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Polly.  "Ah,  ma  lad,  don't  you 
know  your  father  better  nor  that?  Ma  old  mother  1'arnt 
me  that  a  man  is  like  a  sailin'  boat,  an'  you  must  give  him 
some  headway  if  you'd  guide  him  at  all.  So  I  e'en  gave  way 
to  his  fads,  as  I  thought  'em,  an'  made  no  contrapsions 
about  them,  an'  kep'  my  tongue  off'n  him,  as  is  becomin' 
in  a  wife,  hopin'  Fd  be  likelier  to  git  the  guidin'  of  him  by 
an'  by  if  he  had  his  own  way  at  first.  But  it  was  a  sorry 
mistake,  I  doubt.  Deary  me!  An'  now  he's  off  a-sojerin' 
an'  a-directorin'  with  the  militia;  an'  Heaven  only  knows 
what  '11  become  of  it.  Giner'l  Neville's  not  a.  man  to  let  a 
ragtag  lot  o'  mustermen  dictate  til  him;  an'  he'll  sind  them 
a-packin'  quicker,  you  may  be  sure.  There  '11  be  shootin' 
an'  burnin'  an'  murder  afore  the  day's  done,  with  Major 
McFarlane  an'  that  rabble  at  the  tail  of  him.  It's  a  sorry 
heart  the  women  have  this  day,  an'  Neville's  women  folks 
as  well.  An'  it's  a  poor  welcome  that  pretty  Miss  Oldham 


THE    LATIMERS.  207 

'11  have  to  Bower  Hill,  an'  she  jist  on  from  the  East  What 
a  horde  of  ragamuffins  an'  bla'guards  she  must  think  our 
people  are!" 

John  Latimer  in  the  fervor  of  his  excitement  had  been 
walking  the  floor  while  his  mother  was  giving  these  details, 
but  this  last  item  of  news  brought  him  to  a  pause.  "What 
is  that,  mother?  What  are  you  saying  of  Miss  Oldham?" 

"Jist  that  she  's  at  her  uncle's,  whither  she  came  from 
"Philadelphia  three  days  agone.  Fanny  McCormack  was 
a-tellin'  me,  who  had  h'ard  from  her,  an'  was  a-plannin' 
to  visit  her  this  very  day." 

"What!  Fanny  McCormack  too!  But  she  has  not  gone, 
I  hope?"  queried  John  hastily. 

"No,  Fanny's  safe  enough;  for  your  father  bade  me 
warn  her  of  the  trouble,  an'  I  was  over  there  'arly.  But  she 
has  been  ciuryin'  on  about  Blanche  and  Mrs.  Niville  and 
Mrs.  Morgan,  too,  who,  as  bad  luck  would  have  it,  is  over 
at  Bower  Hill  on  a  visit.  Alack!  one  trouble  al'ays  comes 
to  kape  another  company.  But  I  telled  Fanny  there's  not 
the  laste  use  for  til  worry  about  the  women  folk,  for  not 
a  hair  of  their  heads  '11  be  harmed,  I  'm  sure.  Latimer 
would  niver  hear  of  that,  nor  Major  McFarlane,  nor  indade 
anny  of  the  rest  of  'em,  for  that  matter.  Daft  as  our  folk 
are  about  the  axcise  business,  they're  not  so  far  gone  as 
that." 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  John;  "I  have  little  doubt  of  it.  But 
there  are  many  rough  spirits  on  the  border,  and  the  scum 
always  comes  to  the  top  in  seetLing  times  like  these.  But 
what  time,  said  you,  were  the  militia  to  rendezvous  at 
Couch's  Fort?" 

"It  would  be  nigh  about  eleven  your  father  allowed." 

"Eleven?  And  it's  just  past  noon.  What  horses  are 
in  the  stable?" 

"Sure,  John,  you  won't  be  for  mixin'  up  with  these 
affairs?  Isn't  it  enough  to  have  my  husband  there,  athout 
my  son  also — " 

"Come,  mother  dear,"  exclaimed  John.  "I  cannot  bide 
here  and  lather  in  danger.  I  must  go  and  be  near  him; 
and  who  knows,  I  may  save  him  from  harm  in  the  hurly- 
burly.  And  the  ladies  will  be  no  worse  off  for  my  presence, 
even  if  they  are  no  better.  Do  not  delay  me  now,  there's 
a  dear,  for  go  I  will.  Besides,  I  think  it's  my  duty  to  go, 
for  here  is  the  very  information  that  Gen.  Wayne  sent 
me  to  secure." 


208  THE   LATIMEES. 

"Ahbut,  isn't  it  enough  to  have  my  husband  in  the 
whirl,  that  you  must  go  too?  What  crayturs  men  are!  It's 
touch  an'  go  with  'em  all.  They're  a  rampageous  an'  com 
batant  lot,  an'  smell  the  sound  of  battle  afar  off,  like  Job's 
war  horse,  an'  the  voice  of  the  captains  an'  the  shoutin'. 
Woe's  me!  But,  mayhap  it's  for  the  best  you  should  go! 
Your  father  took  the  bay  filly,  an'  George  McCormack  has 
your  chestnut  mare.  There's  my  Snowball!  She's  a  keen 
jade  for  a  canter,  but  ower  fat  for  fast  ridin',  I'm  a-thinkin'. 
But  your  fathers  black  geldin'  Marion  is  in  the  barn,  an' 
in  prime  condition." 

Ere  the  words  were  well  spoken,  John  was  out  of  the 
house  and  into  the  stable.  His  advent  was  greeted  by 
that  pleasant  whinny  of  recognition  so  like  a  human  cry  of 
joy,  with  which  horses  greet  their  lovers.  The  great  swim 
ming  eyes  of  the  animal,— wonderful  objects,  so  full  of 
beauty  and  expression, — beamed  a  delightsome  welcome 
as  John  came  in.  Stopping  but  a  moment  to  return 
Marion's  salutation,  and  rub  his  cheek  against  the  horse's 
nose,  ho  flung  on  saddle  and  bridle.  Then  kissing  his 
mother  good-bye,  for  she  had  followed  him  to  the  stable, 
he  mounted,  and  giving  the  horse  full  rein,  hied  away. 

"Ten  miles  and  more!  Ay,  but  the  lad  '11  make  it  in 
good  time  at  that  rate,"  murmured  Mrs.  Polly.  She  stood 
and  strained  her  eyes  after  the  fa^t-disappearing  figures, 
until  horse  and  man  were  quite  out  of  sight.  Then  she 
entered  the  house  still  talking  to  herself;  for  the  solitary 
life  which  she  had  led  had  brought  on  the  habit  of  solilo 
quizing  aloud.  Her  own  voice  seemed  company  to  her  in 
the  deep  quiet  and  solitude  of  the  primitive  forests.  Thus, 
even  in  her  village  home  she  continued  her  monologues. 

"There  he  goes  after 'the  father,  an'  intil  the  hurly- 
burly!  'Deed  it's  true,  the  old  cock  crows  an'  the  young 
un  1'arns.  Though,  it  comes  nayt'ral  enough  and  nades  no 
1'arnin',  for  they're  all  of  a  piece,  them  men!  An'  nayther 
tane  nor  tither  bethinks  him  of  her  who  must  bide  here 
alone  at  home,  an'  carry  the  fret  an'  tear  of  it  all  in  her 
heart.  If  men  could  be  women  for  the  space  of  aven  one  of 
the  wars  or  riots  they're  so  keen  to  stir  up,  they'd  be  far 
more  p'aceful  times  in  this  warld.  Ay,  a  day  or  two  would 
do  'em,  I'm  a-thinkin'!  They'd  give  manny  an  affront  the 
go-by  rother  nor  stay  at  home  an'  bear  the  strain  an'  fret 
an'  unsartainty;  an'  their  hearts  a-jumpin'  intil  their 


THE    LATIMEES.  209 

mouths  at  ivery  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  roadway;  an'  they 
startin'  up  in  their  slape  with  woeful  drames,  an'  cheeks 
hot  an'  cold  by  turns,  with  that  deadish  and  die-away 
feelin'  at  the  heart  at  the  thoughts  of — no  one  knows  what! 
An'  all  the  more  worryin'  becaze  one  dissn't  know  what. 
Welladay!  so  it  has  always  been,  an'  will  be  I  dar  say  ontil 
the  millennium.  I  beeta  go  in  an'  sit  down  to  my  spinnin', 
an  wark  off  these  vapors  an'  doldrums. 

"How  lonely  the  place  seems  athout  'em.  Hulkin'  fel 
lows!  they  go  a-clutterin'  an'  stampin'  roun'  the  rooms,  or 
a-pacin'  out  an'  in,  an'  weavin'  back  an'  forth  like  a  caged 
cat,  on'asy  for  somethin'  to  do.  Or  jist  as  likely  dawdlin' 
about  an'  settin'  themselves  in  the  way,  an'  refusin'  to  stir 
a  peg  if  they're  wanted  to  lend  a  hand.  One  time  they'll 
be  a-wheecllin'  us  til  ye'd  think  butter  wouldn't  melt  in 
their  mouths;  an'  then  grumpy  an'  techy  an'  argifyin',  an' 
contrairy  like  all  possessed.  Yet,  sakes  alive!  as  soon  as 
they're  gone,  w're  a-frettin'  fer  til  have  'em  back.  An' 
that's  a  woman  for  ye!  Deed,  we  niver  miss  the  water  till 
the  well  goes  dry.  The  Lord  kape  'em  from  all  harrm! 
Amen!  I'm  loth  to  see  the  lad  mix  up  with  sich  harem- 
scarem  doins'.  But  Luke  '11  be  the  better  for  his  prisence, 
for  he  carries  a  stiddy  head,  an'  his  blood  is  not  het  with 
the  axcise  folly  an'  passion.  Well,  well,  sence  I  can't  have 
my  own  way  with  'em,  I  reckon  the  will  of  the  Lord  must 
be  done!  Heigho!" 

Thus  it  came  about  that  John  Latimer,  urging  his  good 
horse  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  reached  Bower  Hill  to  startle 
his  father  by  his  unexpected  appearance,  and  just  in  time  to 
be  made  the  bearer  of  a  flag  of  truce,  and  in  behalf  of  the 
insurgents  offer  safe  conduct  to  the  ladies  of  the  house  and 
the  women  of  the  household. 

At  the  outer  line  of  the  negro  quarters  where  a  soldier 
kept  guard,  Lieut.  Burd  met  him.  As  he  stood  face  to  face 
with  his  competitor  of  the  shooting  match  and  offered  him 
cordial  greeting,  there  suddenly  came  a  strange  confusion 
of  sentiment,  and  a  feeling  akin  to  terror.  There  was  a 
coldness  in  the  answering  salute  of  the  officer;  a  flush  of 
surprise  upon  his  face,  as  of  dormant  contempt  just  awak 
ening;  a  couchant  indignation  that  started  upon  John's 
sensitive  nature  an  image  of  horror,  as  a  lightning  flash  on 
a  stormy  night  brings  vividly  to  view  some  object  before 
unnoticed,  and  fixes  it  upon  tliQ  brain  and  holds  it  there 
Ji 


210  THE   LATIMERS. 

long  after  the  glare  has  gone  back  into  the  blackness.  That 
high  look,  that  indescribable  something  in  Lieut.  Burd's 
carriage — what  could  it  mean? 

He  saw  it  all  now.  Fool!  He  had  not  before  thought 
that  his  act  had  publicly  and  officially  committed  him  to 
the  insurgents'  cause!  In  his  chivalrous  earnestness  to 
help  others,  in  his  consciousness  of  loyalty  to  his  country, 
and  opposition  to  all  treasonable  acts  and  interests,  it  had 
not  occurred  to  him  that  his  motives  might  be  misunder 
stood  and  his  conduct  misconstrued.  Oh!  why  should  he 
have  rushed  into  this  affair?  Could  not  some  one  else  have 
borne  the  flag  of  truce  and  given  equal  safety  to  the  Neville 
ladies?  Ay,  triple  fool!  Quixotic  and  hair-brained  act! 
And  what  would  those  ladies  think;  and  how  would  they 
feel  towards  him?  He,  John  Latimer,  their  friend  and 
guest  so  often,  one  of  the  whiskey  insurgents !  An  assailant 
of  their  house,  and  associate  with  and  leader  of  an  armed 
mob,  to  exile  them,  and  threaten  and  maltreat  their  loved 
ones,  and  burn  and  murder,  it  may  be! — Oh!  And  Miss 
Blanche!  And  he  to  set  up  for  and  come  forth  as  their 
knight!  Knight?  Bah!  Quixotic  idiot! 

There  he  stood,  his  cheeks  aflame,  his  eyes  dazed  and 
downcast,  while  these  thoughts  quivered  along  the  very 
quick  of  his  brain,  and  he  was  conscious  of  the  high  looks 
directed  upon  him  by  Lieut.  Burd.  Ay,  and  it  is  he  of  all 
men  who  stands  there  the  defender  of  the  Nevilles  and  of 
Miss  Blanche!  And  John  Latimer  stands  as  a  repre 
sentative  of  their  despoilers,  an  insurgent  mob,  to  offer 
them  safe  conduct! 

"Well,  sir,  what  message  do  you  bring  from  your  fel 
lows?"  Lieut.  Burd's  calm  question  cut  through  John  like 
cold  steel,  and  that  awoke  him.  Yes,  he  had  been  a  fool, 
but  folly  will  not  cure  folly.  There  was  only  one  course 
now  open  to  him.  He  must  follow  upon  the  first  prompt 
ings  of  his  spirit,  and  knowing  his  worthy  motives,  trust 
to  Heaven  and  time  to  vindicate  them.  But  should  he 
explain  his  exact  relations  to  the  insurgents?  And  could 
he  honorably  do  so,  and  not  betray  a  trust  he  had  sought 
at  their  hands?  Would  he  be  believed?  At  all  events,  he 
would  speak  the  truth  and  say  how  he  came  there.  That 
at  least  was  due  to  honor. 

With  this  resolve,  his  blood  beat  more  calmly.  His 
manhood  was  atop  again,  and  he  stated  his  commission  and 


THE   LATIMERS.  211 

offered  to  conduct  the  ladies  to  Col.  Neville's  house,  which, 
he  was  assured,  would  not  be  molested,  and  wherein  the 
ladies  would  be  safe. 

"So  much  for  my  official  duty.  Now  a  word  of  personal 
explanation  is  due  alike  to  myself  and  all  concerned.  I  do 
not  represent  these  men  who  are  besiegers  of  the  house, 
and  with  whom  yo.u  may  soon  be  in  hostile  combat,  except 
in  this  single  act  of  mercy  to  the  defenseless.  With  them 
and  with  their  purpose  I  have  no  part  nor  lot.  I  have  not 
been  thirty  minutes  upon  these  grounds,  having  hastened 
hither  from  my  home  on  the  first  tidings  of  what  was 
afoot,  with  the  double  purpose  of  watching  over  my  father, 
who  is  one  of  the  leaders,  and  of  using  my  influence  with 
him  and  the  others  on  the  side  of  forbearance  and  peace; 
or  at  least  to  bespeak  the  utmost  courtesy  towards  the 
ladies.  I  beg  you  to  explain  my  position,  for  I  am  con 
cerned  not  to  appear  in  false  colors  from  the  one  side  or 
the  other.  Moreover,  I  have  just  come  from  Gen.  Wayne, 
directed  as  a  Government  scout  to  gather  all  information 
bearing  upon  the  character  of  the  disturbances  in  Western 
Pennsylvania.  As  such  I  have  felt  and  feel  it  my  duty  to 
be  present  here  to  observe  transactions  and  report  in  ac 
cordance  with  the  facts." 

If  an  expression  of  doubt,  a  passing  interrogatory,  as  it 
were,  came  over  Lieut.  Burd's  face,  it  was  but  momentary, 
and  vanished  like  the  shadow  of  a  drifting  cloud.  That  look 
and  manner  which  had  started  such  a  tumult  in  John's  sorl 
disappeared,  and  with  a  glance  as  of  restored  confi 
dence  and  respect,  the  officer  bowed.  "I  will  not  forget 
your  message/7  he  said,  "and  I  need  not  say  that  it  gives  me 
pleasure  both  to  hear  and  bear  it.  I  must  ask  you  to  remain 
here  by  the  sentinel  until  I  return." 

John  can  hardly  be  blamed  for  mentally  wondering  if 
Lieut-.  Burd  would  say  all  he  wished  him  to  say?  Would 
he  make  it  quite  plain?  Even  to  Blanche?  And  would  he 
be  believed?  The  few  moments  that  elapsed  seemed  a  long 
interval  ere  the  officer  returned,  and  reported  that  the  offer 
of  the  insurgent  leaders  had  been  accepted,  with  such 
thanks  as  were  due  for  that  much  consideration.  Capt. 
Latimer's  kind  offer  to  act  as  escort  was  also  accepted,  and 
the  ladies  would  be  committed  to  his  charge.  Would  he  be 
good  enough  to  follow  him  to  yonder  picket  gate  in  the 
outer  yard  fence?  As  the  two  men  walked  together,  Lieut. 


212  THE    LATIMERS. 

Burd  asked,  "Are  you  at  liberty  to  say  how  how  many  men 
the  insurgents  muster,  and  how  they  are  armed?" 

"Yes;  as  far  as  I  know  they  have  no  wish  to  conceal 
anything.  Indeed,  they  had  hoped  that  their  numbers 
would  overawe  opposition  and  save  bloodshed.  There  are 
at  least  five  hundred  men,  and  they  are  well  armed  with 
rifles  and  muskets." 

"What  manner  of  men  are  they?" 

"They  are  the  best  citizens  in  these  parts.  Many  are 
of  blameless  life  and  character.  There  are  a  number  of 
Revolutionary  veterans  among  them,  and  their  leader  is  an 
officer  of  some  distinction.  They  are  deeply  in  earnest 
and  conscientious  in  their  action." 

"Will  they  go  the  length  of  firing  on  us?" 

"Undoubtedly.  And  if  I  might  be  permitted  to  advise, 
I  would  urge  you  to  treat  with  them  and  not  attempt  resist 
ance.  Your  position  is  not  defensible  against  such  odds. 
You  may  hold  it  for  a  little  while,  but  with  your  force  the 
bravest  defender  must  in  the  end  perish  or  surrender. 
Eesistance  will  certainly  cost  loss  of  life  on  both  sides,  and 
will  inflame  the  passions  of  the  besiegers,  and  make  further 
bloodshed  inevitable.  A  battle  here  to-day  will  kindle 
open  insurrection  throughout  the  Western  counties.  Pru 
dence,  peace,  conciliation  here  may  save  us  from  a  civil 
war.  I  beg  you  to  pause.  I  would  count  it  a  high  honor 
could  I  serve  as  a  medium  of  peace  between  you  and  my 
misguided  friends  yonder." 

Lieut.  Burd  listened  attentively.  His  serious  face 
showed  that  he  felt  the  high  responsibility  resting  upon 
him,  but  he  made  no  response.  The  two  men  were  now. 
nearing  the  picket  gate  upon  the  east.  Just  outside,  in  the 
shelter  of  an  oak  tree  that  grew  hard  by  the  smoke-house 
where  the  family  meat  was  preserved,  stood  a  knot  of 
women.  Mrs.  Morgan  was  in  the  foreground.  Behind  her 
was  a  bevy  of  negro  slaves,  all  with  packages  and  hand-bags 
containing  their  portable  belongings,  for  so  the  Directory 
had  allowed,  prohibiting  only  the  public  papers  of  the 
Inspector. 

But  where  is  Blanche?  Ah,  there  she  comes,  her  Aunt 
Neville  leaning  on  her  arm  and  weeping,  while  a  negro 
woman  carries  their  satchels. 

John's  heart  leaped  upward  at  the  sight,  and  his  cheeks 
grew  pale,  and  the  muscles  of  his  arm  twitched  as  he 


THE    LATIMERS.  213 

inwardly  cursed  the  folly  that  had  caused  such  a  scene. 
Blanche  seemed  taller  than  when  he  saw  her  last,  and  more 
womanly.  Her  clear  brunette  cheeks  were  rosier  than  wont 
with  the  excitement,  and  her  eyes  flashed  with  alternate 
indignation  and  pity.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  fear  in  her 
carriage.  She  came  of  good  blood,  of  a  race  of  brave  men; 
and  blood  tells.  John  would  have  sprung  forward  to  meet 
her,  but  hesitated  a  moment,  for  he  wras  not  assured  of  his 
reception.  While  he  hesitated,  Lieut.  Burd  advanced,  and 
giving  the  weeping  matron  his  arm  led  her  to  the  gate  of 
her  home,  Blanche  closely  following. 

It  was  hard  for  John  to  check  the  impulse  to  greet  the 
iair  maiden  and  offer  his  arm  to  her,  but  he  restrained  him 
self.  The  frigid  greeting  of  Mrs.  Morgan,  and  the  glum 
and  glowering  looks  of  the  servants  had  chilled  his  heart 
and  chained  his  free  action.  To  lose  confidence  concerning 
one's  favorable  standing,  especially  before  ladies,  smothers 
self-complacency,  puts  self-poise  off  pivot,  and  leaves  a 
young  man  at  sad  disadvantage.  The  angry  and  lofty  bear 
ing  of  Mrs.  Neville  and  her  formal  bow  of  greeting  cut  him 
to  the  quick  and  gave  no  relief.  There  was  something  in 
the  look  that  Blanche  cast  toward  him,  and  the  sudden 
mantling  of  her  cheeks,  that  gave  him  better  heart. 

He  bowed  deeply  and  would  have  spoken — he  hardly 
knew  what.  But  the  silence  that  had  heretofore  brooded 
was  broken  by  a  musket  shot  from  the  woods  beyond  the 
spring.  How  it  echoed  and  re-echoed  along  the  ravine! 
The  ladies  started.  The  servants  set  up  a  cry.  All  eyes 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  where  a  light  puff  of 
smoke  curled  up  among  the  trees. 

"Heavens!    Have  they  opened  fire?"  cried  Lieut.  Burd. 

"God  forbid!"  exclaimed  John.  "No,  it  cannot  be.  It 
is  only  a  signal,  but  it  bids  us  hasten.  Madam,"  addressing 
Mrs.  Neville,  "I  grieve  to  say  it,  but  we  must  hasten  our 
departure.  God  knows  I  would  spare  you — would  spare 
you  all  (a  glance  at  Blanche)  the  sorrow  and  affront  of  this 
day.  But  we  are  in  the  hands  of  God,  and  must  bow  to  His 
will.  Hark!  another  signal.  Come,  we  must  go." 

A  second  shot  was  heard  from  the  opposite  quarter,  and 
by  a  stir  in  the  gray  line  of  human  forms  on  the  crest  of 
the  hills  beyond,  it  was  seen  that  the  insurgents  were  pre 
paring  to  advance.  Slowly  the  little  company  of  forlorn 
women  took  up  their  way  along  the  driveway  and  thence 


214  THE   LATIMERS. 

to  the  road  where  the  coachman  awaited  with  horses  and 
carriage.  Lieut.  Burd  handed  Mrs.  Neville  and  Mrs.  Mor 
gan  into  the  coach,  and  now  John  had  courage  to  offer  his 
hand  to  Blanche  for  like  service.  How  dainty  her  hand 
looked  as  it  lay  but  a  second  in  his  open  palm!  And  what  a 
thrill  it  left!  Was  it  only  a  fancy,  or  did  it  leave  also  the 
slightest  pressure  thereon  as  the  maiden  stepped  into  the 
vehicle  and  received  her  package  from  John's  hand? 

A  third  shot!  The  last  signal.  Mrs.  Neville  looked 
out  of  the  coach  window  as  the  horses  moved  off,  and  gazed 
eagerly,  alas!  and  for  the  last  time,  upon  the  stately  man 
sion  which  so  long  had  been  her  happy  home.  Then,  burst 
ing  into  tears,  she  drew  down  the  blind,  and  throwing  her 
self  back  upon  the  cushions  sobbed  aloud,  and  her  com 
panions,  in  sympathetic  grief,  wept  with  her. 

John  turned  to  Lieut.  Burd  as  the  servants  fell  into 
line  behind  the  carriage,  and  held  out  his  hand  which  was 
wamly  grasped.  "God  guide  you!"  he  exclaimed,  "in  this 
day's  sad  work; -and  God  protect  you!  Good-bye." 

He  moved  rapidly  forward  and  took  his  place  at  the  side 
of  the  coach,  while  Lieut.  Burd  turned  sadly  to  ttie  duties 
before  him.  As  the  mournful  procession  reached  the  curve 
in  the  road  where  the  descent  of  the  hill  becomes  more 
marked,  it  was  challenged  by  a  sentinel;  for  the  house  was 
surrounded,  and  egress  by  the  inmates  was  cut  off  from 
every  quarter.  John  advanced  and  answered  the  challenge, 
but  the  sentinel  refused  to  be  content.  A.  written  pass 
signed  by  McFarlane,  which  had  been  hastily  prepared  in 
case  of  need,  was  produced. 

But  the  guard  remained  obdurate  and  denied  passage. 
He  had  been  told  to  allow  no  one  to  pass,  and  especially  to 
search  any  one  coming  from  the  house  for  papers,  and  bring 
such  before  the  Directory.  The  pass  might  be  all  right. 
He  wouldn't  say  anything  about  that;  but  right  or  wrong, 
he  must  search  the  carriage  and  search  the  women.  Where 
upon  he  advanced  to  make  his  word  good. 

"Halt!"  cried  John,  placing  himself  in  the  soldier's 
way,  and  speaking  with  no  gentle  voice,  for  he  grew  impa 
tient  at  this  needless  delay.  "Call  for  the  officer  of  the 
guard!  You're  an  ignoramus,  and  do  not  know  the  com 
monest  duties  of  your  post.  Here  is  the  Commander's  pass 
bidding  all  sentinels  respect  the  bearer,  and  pass  the  ladies 
in  his  charge.  Dare  you  set  yourself  against  such 
authority?" 


THE    LATIMEES.  215 

"An'  who  the  divil  are  you,  sor?"  was  the  tart  response, 
"that  presoome  to  taych  your  betters?  John  Latimer,  for 
sooth!  Ay,  I've  h'ard  tell  of  yees  as  a  stuck-up  tory,  an* 
inimy  of  our  cause.  My  opeenion  is  that  you're  little  better 
nor  a  spy  an'  traitor,  an'  be  hanged  til  you.  Stand  out  of 
my  way,  or — 

Ere  the  sentence  was  finished  John  had  wrested  the 
threatening  musket  from  the  guard's  hand,  and  with  a 
quick  turn  of  his  foot  brought  him  to  the  ground,  then 
quickly  reversing  the  piece,  held  the  bayonet  to  his  breast. 
The  soldier  lay  for  a  moment  stunned,  and  then  lifting  up 
his  head,  showed  a  face  on  which  surprise  and  terror  were 
equally  depicted,  and  lustily  cried  for  quarter. 

"Get  up,  then,"  said  John,  bringing  the  musket  to  a 
rest,  "and  see  if  you  will  let  us  go  now."  His  rage  had 
already  softened  into  a  glint  of  laughter  at  the  sentinel's 
forlorn  and  dazed  appearance. 

"Let  you  go?"  echoed  the  sentinel  solemnly,  who  now 
had  arisen  and  was  brushing  the  dust  from  his  clothes. 
"Go,  ay,  go,  an'  be  dawgond  til  ye!  As  soon  as  you're  a 
mineter,  for  all  me.  Ye've  got  the  better  of  me  this  time; 
but  I'll  be  aven  with  ye  yit,  mind  that  now,  John  Latimer." 

The  ladies,  alarmed  at  the  delay  and  hearing  something 
of  the  commotion,  opened  the  coach  door  and  asked  what 
was  the  matter.  "Nothing  at  all  now,"  answered  John 
quietly.  "A  little  delay  in  passing  the  guard  line.  But  it 
is  all  right,  and  the  sentinel  is  quite  satisfied.  Drive  on, 
coachman.  Guard,  do  you  fall  in  and  follow  us  to  the  foot 
of  the  hill." 

Meanwhile  the  controversy  had  attracted  the  attention 
of  others  whose  complaisance  John  feared  he  might  not 
so  easily  count  upon.  Several  sentinels  from  the  picket 
line  within  the  adjacent  wood  were  moving  rapidly  toward 
the  road.  Another  and  more  serious  impedient  threatened, 
and  John  began  to  be  gravely  concerned,  when  among  the 
advancing  forms  he  noted  a  hatless  man  who  bore  on  his 
sturdy  shoulders  the  red  shocky  poll  of  Andy  Burbeck. 

"By  all  the  powers!"  cried  Andy,  rushing  forward  and 
grasping  his  friend  by  the  hand.  "It  is  Jock  Latimer  him 
self!  An'  how  in  the  name  of  all  that's  wonderful,  came 
you  here?  I  thought  you  safe  enough  among  the  red  sav 
ages,  and  here  ye  turn  up,  like  a  bad  penny,  in  the  midst  of 
a  white  man's  riot!  But  ye're  out  of  the  fryin'  pan  intil  the 
•fire,  my  boy,  bad  luck  to  us  all!" 


216  THE    LATIMEKS. 

"You're  a  godsend,  Andy,  as  usual;"  said  John,  who 
was  never  more  delighted  to  see  the  honest  red  and  freckled 
face.  "But  I  have  no  time  to  talk  now.  I'm  escorting  these 
ladies  to  Col.  Neville's  beyond  the  Chartiers,  and  you  must 
join  me.  The  sentinel  has  delayed  me,  though  I  bear  the 
Commandant's  pass.  Here  it  la.  Where  is  the  corporal 
of  the  guard  for  this  post?" 

"Ay!"  said  Andy,  glancing  at  the  pass.  "This  is  all 
right  an'  rig'lar,  an'  A'm  the  man  ye're  a-lookin'  fer — Cor 
poral  Andy  Burbeck,  at  yer  sarvice!"  Turning  to  the  other 
two  guards  who  had  now  come  up,  he  dismissed  them  to 
their  posts. 

"I  think,"  said  John,  "I  can  now  venture  to  return  this 
piece."  With  a  pleasant  smile  he  handed  the  obstinate 
sentinel  his  musket,  which  was  received  with  a  wry  face 
and  grimace  that  savored  of  anything  but  gratitude. 
Andy  took  in  the  situation  at  once. 

"Ah,  Davvy,  ma  b'y,"  said  he,  "whan  '11  ye  be  1'arnin'  a, 
little  good  sinse  ?  Ye  might  'a  knowed  this  pass  is  all  right, 
aven  if  ye  couldn't  rade  it.  An'  didn't  A'  tell  ye  to  call  the 
corporal  of  the  gyard,  an'  not  trust  til  y'r  own  wit?  Sure 
y'r  head  '11  niver  fill  y'r  father's  hat.  An'  ye  must  nades 
try  a  throw  with  John  Latimer,  hey?  He  nades  a  long 
spoon  who  would  sup  with  the  de'il,  an' — " 

"Come,  come,"  interrupted  Capt.  John.  "Mind  the 
master's  copy,  Andy,  'comparisons  are  odious.'  But  we  are 
losing  precious  time.  Shall  we  move  on?" 

"Ay,  that  we  wull,  an'  A'll  see  ye  safe  down  the  hill,  an' 
God  bless  the  ladies!  Stay  here,  Davvy,"  he  added  address 
ing  the  sentinel,  "ontil  A'  come  back;  an'  ye  '11  know  Cap'n 
Latimer  better  the  nixt  time  ye  mate,  A'  promise  ye." 

"Suppin'  with  the  de'il,  indade!"  muttered  the  guard, 
mumbling  over  Andy's  proverb.  "Ye  may  well  say  that, 
Andy  Burbeck!"  He  rubbed  his  elbows,  which  had  been 
bruised  by  the  fall.  "There's  niver  a  livin'  bain',  barrin' 
the  de'il  an'  John  Latimer,  that  could  a'  backed  Davy 
Dandruff  that  away.  But  letabee!  I'll  bide  my  time,  an' 
it's  flat  enough  I'll  lave  him  ere  I've  done." 

The  lines  once  passed,  the  servants  recovered  their 
courage  and  spirits,  and  as  is  usual  with  such  folk,  became 
bold  as  they  receded  from  danger.  They  hurried  down  the 
steep  road,  and  passing  the  carriage,  which  must  move 
more  cautiously,  took  familiar  bypaths  and  cut-offs,  and 


THE    LATIMERS,  217 

were  soon  scurrying  over  the  bridge  in  little  groups,  and 
telling  their  exciting  news  to  the  Woodville  servants.  At 
the  bridge,  Col.  Neville  met  the  carriage.  He  had  started 
from  Pittsburg  at  news  of  the  impending  attack,  accom 
panied  by  marshal  Lenox  and  a  young  man  named  Ormsby, 
who  now  awaited  him  at  the  mansion.  From  the  summit, 
and  through  the  thick  woods  came  now  and  then  the  sound 
of  a  musket  shot  and  the  snapping  crack  of  a  rifle. 
Another!  Two  or  three  together; — then  a  rattling  volley. 
The  battle  had  begun! 

Committing  his  charges  to  their  kinsman's  care,  John 
answered  his  scant  courtesy  and  formal  thanks  with  a 
stately  bow.  Not  caring  to  tax  the  ladies  with  further  duty 
of  grudging  courtesy,  he  bade  Andy  follow,  and  hurried  up 
the  road.  Yet,  having  mounted  to  a  point  close  by  a  small 
frontier  sanctuary  known  as  St.  Luke's  Church,  beyond 
which  the  woods  shut  out  view  of  the  bridge,  he  could 
not  forbear  turning  and  casting  a  glance  downward.  What 
does  he  see? 

The  carriage  has  not  moved;  the  door  is  open,  and  those 
within  are  evidently  telling  Col.  Presley  Neville  their  bitter 
experience.  One  of  the  ladies  stands  on  the  bridge  and  pats 
the  horse  which  the  Colonel  rides.  It  is  Blanche.  See! 
She  turns  and  looks  up  the  road.  She  has  caught  sight 
of  the  two  men,  and  knows  that  they  are  looking  towards 
her.  A  wave  of  a  tiny  handkerchief ;: — a  hat  lifted  from  the 
head — that  is  all.  Yes,  it  is  all!  The  maiden  enters  the 
coach,  whose  heavy  wheels  give  forth  a  rumbling  that  rolls 
up  the  knoll.  John  climbs  the  steep  road  that  here  curves 
sharply  upward  from  the  little  log  church,  with  a  pace 
that  sets  Andy  puffing  and  protesting. 

The  musketry  firing  grows  apace.  The  whistle  of  bul 
lets  is  heard  as  they  cut  through  the  leaves.  The 
hoo-oo-izz !  of  one  bullet  as  it  sings  close  above  their  heads, 
warns  them  to  caution.  John  pushes  on  with  vast  strides. 
Andy  labors  after  him,  and  the  Captain  thinks  of — his 
father?  Of  his  duty  as  a  scout?  Andy  thinks  wliat  fools 
they  two  be,  not  to  shy  around  from  the  broad  road  and 
take  the  shelter  of  the  trees.  A  wave  of  a  handkerchief! 
How  long  can  a  lover's  hopes  live  on  a  favor  so  slight  as 
that?  How  many  dreams  of  love  and  happiness  can  a 
lover's  fancy  weave  from  the  fragile  fabric  of  such  a  trifle? 

As  they  neared  the  P>ower  Plill  house  they  found  that 


218  THE   LATIME11S. 

the  picket  lines  had  been  thrown  backward  so  as  to  com 
mand  the  road  while  keeping  the  sentinels  out  of  range  of 
their  comrades'  bullets  fired  from  the  opposite  quarter. 
Therefore  Andy,  with  consent  of  the  officer  of  the  guard, 
accompanied  John  to  the  headquarters  of  the  Directory 
where  he  duly  reported. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  RESURGENTS  ATTACK  THE   INSPECTOR'S  HOUSE. 

From  the  .outbuildings  a  steady  fire  was  kept  up  by 
the  armed  slaves.  On  the  other  hand  the  militia  were 
slowly  contracting  their  lines,  and  directing  their  firing 
against  every  exposed  person  within  range.  The  aspect 
of  the  scene  was  varied  and  exciting  as  John  watched 
it  from  his  elevated  outlook  on  the  bridge  beyond  the 
ravine. 

Major  McFarlane  was  advancing  his  men  in  the  frontier 
fashion,  borrowed  from  the  Indians.  Once  ridiculed  by 
the  conservative  officers  of  European  troops,  it  was  the  evo 
lutionary  basis  from  which  has  been  developed  the  method 
of  open  order  attack  in  the  skirmishing  tactics  of  modern 
armies.  Every  clump  of  bushes,  every  tree  trunk  and  log, 
or  slightest  irregularity,  were  seized  upon  as  shelter  by  the 
militiamen.  Occasional  puffs  of  smoke,  followed  by  the 
crack  of  rifles,  marked  their  irregular  line  of  approach. 
Here  a  human  form  was  seen  crouching  low  on  the  ground 
and  crawling  like  a  couchant  beast  through  the  grass. 
There,  one  left  his  shelter  and  bending  low  with  trailed 
piece  rushed  across  the  open  space  to  a  tree  further  in 
advance.  This  feat  was  at  once  signalled  by  blue  orles  of 
smoke  issuant  from  the  cabins  or  the  windows  of  the  man 
sion,  and  by  the  rattle  of  musketry  and  singing  of  balls 
through  the  air,  and  their  dead  thud  as  they  sank  into  tree 
or  ground.  In  turn,  the  momentary  exposure  which  this 
required  was  instantly  followed  by  a  broken  volley  from 
the  watchful  besiegers.  Thus  back  and  forth  the  musketry 
of  the  besieged  gave  tongue  now  in  sporadic  notes,  and 
again  in  rolling  unison,  and  was  answered  by  the  staccato 
barking  of  rifles  from  the  woods  or  the  rattle  of  a  full  vol- 


THE    LATIMEES.  219 

ley.  John  Latimer's  experience  in  war  had  been  limited 
to  a  few  engagements  with  Indians,  and  a  combat  of  this 
sort  was  new  to  him.  He  watched  its  progress  with 
anxious  heart,  and  dread  at  every  outbreak  of  the  firing  to 
see  the  bodies  of  dead  and  wounded  brought  to  the  rear. 
But  the  losses  were  few.  Now  came  a  pause  in  the  firing. 
Major  McFarlane  was  preparing  for  a  final  charge  upon 
the  negro  quarters  which,  once  captured,  would  compel  the 
surrender  of  the  little  mansion  garrison  or  insure  their 
destruction.  With  that  eager  curiosity  which  attracts  men 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  seat  of  danger  in  all  conflicts 
of  human  passions,  John  changed  his  position  and  grad 
ually  approached  the  line  of  combatants.  The  Directory 
too  had  moved  forward,  and  Luke  Latimer  had  joined 
McFarlane  to  take  part  in  the  final  attack. 

"God  save  us!"  exclaimed  Andy.  "There  he  goes  intil 
the  thick  of  it  as  calmly  as  though  he  were  bullet  proof. 
A  willfu'  man  nades  to  be  unco'  wise, as  the  sayin'  goes;  but 
savin'  your  prisence,  Cap'n  Jock,  your  governor  has  more 
will  nor  wisdom.  He's  the  beatenest  man  for  self-will  A' 
iver  knowed.  What's  the  good'  of  bein'  a  Directory  if  one 
can't  kape  at  a  safe  distance  in  a  shindy  like  this?  There's 
Mr.  Parkinson,  now,  knows  whan  his  bread  is  buttered,  an' 
stays  back  by  that  big  tree.  He's  the  sort  of  Directory  that 
suits  my  fancy  the  now.  An'  there's  yoursilf,  Mr.  John, 
what  do  ye  be  axposin'  yoursilf  for?  This  is  no  quarrel  of 
your'n  whatsomiver.  An'  you  unarmed!  You're  a  non- 
combatter,  an'  ought  for  til  go  to  the  rare  with  the 
wounded,  like  the  parsons, — that  is,  if  we  had  anny,  which 
we  havn't!  The  parsons  are  all  on  t'other  side  of  the  axcise 
fight,  like  good  Father  Clark;  an'  these  poor  lads,  A'  mis 
doubt,  will  some  of  'em  die  athout  the  banefit  of  clargy. 
An'  yoursilf,  Cap'n  Jock,  among  'm,  if  you  don't -be  more 
careful!  Hold  stiddy  now!  If  ye  be  hasty  ye  '11  niver  be 
lasty,  mind  you!  You  won't  go  back?  Ay,  it's  the  old 
story, — childer's  childer  to  the  third  and  fourth  ginera- 
tion!  You're  as  like  yer  dad  as  two  peas  in  a  pod.  An' 
my  good  instructions  are  all  thrown  away  on  ye.  Ye'll 
niand  when  ye  get  better,  no  doot;  but  in  the  manetime, 
how  are  ye  goin'  to  take  care  of  your  father  if  them  gar 
rison  chaps  or  the  plaguy  darkies  make  a  target  of  ye?" 

"Come,  Andy,"  said  John,  "you're  not  afraid,  are  you? 
This  is  a  new  sensation  for  you,  I'll  be  bound.  But  cheer 


220  THE   LATIMERS. 

up!  What  sayeth  one  of  your  proverbs?  'He  '11  never  be 
drowned  who  is  born  to  be  hung/  or  does  it  run  the  other 
way?" 

"No  matter,"  quoth  Andy.  "Like  an  Indian  canoe,  the 
sayin'  goes  as  well  one  way  as  tother.  But  heth!  jist  spake 
aisy  whan  ye  mantion  hangin',  wull  ye,  for  this  '11  be  hangin' 
business  for  some  of  us,  or  A'm  no  prophet.  Look  at  that 
now!  God  guide  us!"  he  exclaimed,  as  a  bullet  peeled  the 
bark  from  a  tree  just  beside  him.  "Sure  there  was  a  stave 
out  of  ma  noggin  whan  A'  vantur'd  intil  sich  a  sinseless 
scrimmage." 

"Well,  Andy,  you're  quite  right,"  said  John.  "There 
is  neither  courage  nor  sense  in  useless  exposure." 

"True  for  you,  lad.  That's  quite  right.  Ahbut!  it  was 
a  close  shave.  Howsomiver,  a  miss  is  as  good  a  mile;  but 
jist  now  A'  had  ruther  tak'  a  mile  an'  make  surer  of  the 
miss.  A've  no  stomach  for  this  business,  an'  A'd  niver  'a 
been  here  if  that  blissed  mother  of  your'n  hadn't  'a  per 
suaded  me  to  come  an'  look  after  your  father  a  bit.  A'm 
a-thinkin'  if  A'  iver  git  out  of  this  scrape,  my  Peggy  '11 
have  a  sittlement  with  her  over  that  affair, — if  she  iver 
finds  it  out.  But  see  yon  smoke!  It  'ud  be  a  fire  in  one 
of  the  cabins  belike;  an'  A'  fancy  the  lads  are  a-tryin'  to 
smoke  the  blackies  out.  There  '11  be  crackin'  warem  work 
now." 

Not  stopping  to  answer  or  even  note  Andy's  comments, 
John  hastened  to  where  McFarlane  and  his  father  stood 
in  the  shelter  .of  a  clump  of  oaks.  "Is  this  an  accident, 
Major?"  he  asked.  "Surely  you  don't  aim  to  burn  the 
house?" 

"You're  quite  right,  sir,"  answered  McFarlane.  "I 
don't  know  the  cause  of  the  fire.  Some  of  my  men  may 
have  kindled  it,  but  it's  agin  orders,  and  I've  jist  ordered 
it  put  out." 

"Then  that  is  work  I  may  help  in/'  answered  John. 
Waiting  no  further  word  he  sprang  away  followed  by  Andy, 
who  with  all  his  protests  and  assumed  timorousness,  was 
one  of  the  boldest  of  men.  After  these  came  a  squad  of 
insurgents  who  had  been  detailed  for  the  service.  The 
negroes  were  fleeing  pell-mell  from  the  burning  cabin 
toward  the  house,  whose  garrison  opened  fire  upon  John 
and  his  party,  thinking  that  they  were  making  a  charge. 
McFarlane,  to  protect  them,  ordered  the  whole  line  to 


THE    LATIMERS.  221 

open  upon  the  mansion,  and  the  smoke  of  the  heavy 
fusilade,  mingling  with  that  of  the  burning  building,  soon 
filled  the  ravine.  The  negroes  in  the  adjoining  quarters 
seeing  that  the  purpose  was  to  quench,  not  to  spread  the 
flames,  joined  in  the  service,  and  for  a  while  the  adversaries, 
under  John's  direction,  wrought  in  kindly  unison  amidst 
the  battle  roar  of  their  contending  associates.  The  fire  was 
readily  subdued;  and  covered  with  smoke  and  char  and 
sweat  from  the  heat  and  exercise,  John  returned  to  head 
quarters  not  disdaining  to  screen  himself  from  the  flying 
bullets  when  opportunity  served. 

"'What  is  that?"  asked  Luke,  pointing  toward  the  man 
sion.  "I  h'ard  someone  a-callin'  from  the  house.  An7  is 
yon  a  white  flag?" 

Major  McFarlane  stopped  and  peered  through  the 
smoke.  "It  is  that,  indeed,"  he  said,  "a  flag  waving  from 
the  gallery  window.  Thank  God!  Fm  aweary  of  this 
wretched  business,  and  would  save  furder  bloodshed. 
Heaven  knows  we  've  had  too  much  a'ready.  Cease  firing," 
he  shouted. 

•  The  order  was  obeyed  on  the  line  near  him,  but  on  the 
flanks,  where  perhaps  it  had  not  been  heard,  the  shooting 
continued.  Impatient  thereat,  the  commandant  stepped 
from  the  shelter  of  the  tree  behind  which  he  had  stood,  and 
ran  forward  into  the  open  road.  He  waved  his  rifle  (for 
he  had  been  taking  active  part  in  the  attack)  and  repeated 
the  order: 

"Cease  firing!" 

Did  the  garrison  deem  this  a  signal  for  assault?  Had 
the  white  flag  been  only  a  wretched  ruse  to  gain  a  brief 
respite?  Had  there  been  any  flag  at  all?  We  shall  never, 
perhaps,  be  able  to  determine  this  point.  All  we  know  is 
that  a  volley  was  fired  from  the  house,  and  Major  McFar 
lane  fell. 

A  cry  of  grief  and  rage  rose  from  the  nearby  ranks. 
Fvery  weapon  broke  forth  in  vengeful  discharge.  The  gar 
rison  and  the  cabins  replied,  and  amidst  a  leaden  hail  that 
cut  the  leaves  overhead  and  cleft  the  earth  underneath, 
John  Latimer  sprang  forward,  and  lifting  the  commander's 
prostrate  form  bore  it  to  the  shelter  of  the  trees  and  laid  it 
tenderly  down. 

"Kun  for  the  surgeon!"  he  cried.  Men  hurried  away 
towards  the  rear.  The  pale  lips  moved. 


222  THE   LATIMEKS. 

"Is  it  water  he  wants?" 

At  the  bare  hint  Luke  Latimer  ran  to  the  spring  close 
by,  heedless  of  flying  bullets.  Returning  therefrom,  the 
hand  which  held  the  leathern  cup  suddenly  fell.  He  stag 
gered,  recovered,  picked  up  the  cup  in  the  other  hand,  ran 
back  to  the  spring,  and  now  came  safely  to  where  the  dying 
chief  lay  supported  in  John's  arms. 

Too  late!    Lay  him  down,  now!    He  is  dead! 

Tenderly,  as  though  he  were  a  sleeping  infant,  John  laid 
the  body  down,  composed  the  limbs,  and  stood  gazing  sadly 
on  the  pallid  and  blood-stained  face.  Just  behind  him, 
Luke  Latimer  leaned  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  his  own 
face  almost  as  white  as  his  dead  commander's.  Andy  Bur- 
beck  touched  him. 

"Don't  you  see,  mon,"  said  he,  "that  ye've  been  hurted 
y'rself.  Come  away  out  of  this  to  the  doctor."  He  pointed 
to  Luke's  right  arm  which  hung  limp  at  his  side,  while  a 
stream  of  blood  ran  down  over  the  fingers. 

"Whist,  Andy,  it  is  nothing.  Not  a  word  to  anny 
wan.  I  must  take  command  now.  Jist  help  me  tie  it  up." 

He  tried  to  raise  the  wounded  arm,  but  the  expression  oC 
pain  on  his  countenance  showed  that  it  was  not  easily  done. 
However,  as  no  word  of  Andy's  could  prevail  upon  him  to 
leave  the  field  they  retired  to  a  clump  of  bushes.  Andy 
ripped  up  the  coat  sleeve  with  his  hunting  knife  and  ban 
daged  the  wound  with  his  kerchief.  Having  thus  stayed 
the  blood-letting,  he  made  a  rude  sling  for  the  arm.  His 
rough  surgery  was  followed  by  a  drink  of  spirits  from  his 
canteen;  and  revived  thereby,  but  weak  and  shaky  with 
intense  pain,  Luke  moved  off,  accompanied  by  Andy,  to 
take  charge  of  the  insurgents. 

"McFarlane  is  killed!" 

The  news  ran  along  the  lines.  "Killed  treacherously, 
under  cover  of  a  white  flag!"  Men  were  enraged  beyond 
control  at  the  foul  act.  They  charged  with  cheers  and 
curses  and  vows  of  vengeance,  upon  the  outhouses  whose 
defenders  fled  to  the  mansion. 

"Burn  out  the  nest  of  traitors!" 

Some  one  raised  this  cry,  and  there  needed  no  urging  to 
the  deed.  The  still-smouldering  brands  of  the  cabin,  which 
a  few  moments  before  some  of  them  had  risked  their  lives 
to  extinguish,  were  fanned  into  flames  and  applied  to 
cabins,  to  barn,  to  distillery.  The  continued  play  of  mus- 


THE   LATIMEES.  223 

ketry  from  the  house  was  unheeded.  Indeed,  it  was  soon 
diverted  towards  the  opposite  quarter,  for  the  line  of  be 
siegers  pushed  on  closer,  and  poured  volley  after  volley  into 
the  house.  All  the  energies  of  Lieut.  Burd  and  his  little 
band  were  required  to  check  their  advance. 

The  negro  quarters  were  burning.  The  stable  was  on 
fire.  The  barn  was  blazing.  The  distillery  slowly  kindled, 
tlien  quickly,  as  the  tongued  flames  caught  the  taste  of  the 
spirits  with  which  the  woodwork  was  saturated.  The 
wrathful  soldiery,  their  passions  rising  writh  every  exercise 
of  the  destructive  faculty,  Deat  in  some  of  the  whiskey  bar 
rels  and  rolled  them  to  the  fire,  which  licked  up  the  com 
bustible  stuff  and  spit  it  out  in  blue  sheets  of  flame.  All 
the  buildings  were  soon  burning,  and  the  smoke  of  the  con 
flagration  rose  in  gray  clouds  from  the  high  site  of  Bower 
Hill,  and  being  seen  far  and  wide,  gave  signal  to  the 
countryside  of  the  sad  work  being  wrought. 

Soon  the  mansion  itself  was  threatened.  The  flying 
sparks  kindled  here  and  there  patches  of  fire.  The  rising 
wind  sucked  straight  toward  it.  The  place  was  doomed! 
Xo  human  skill  could  preserve  it.  The  end  had  come  at 
last.  Xo  man  could  do  more  for  its  defense,  and  the  white 
flag  was  displayed  and  kept  floating.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  this  time  of  the  intention  of  the  besieged. 

A  loud  cheer  went  up  from  the  insurgents  at  these 
signs  of  surrender,  and  the  firing  ceased  as  Lieut.  Burd  and 
the  survivors  of  his  little  band  of  gallant  defenders  came 
forth,  the  soldiers  with  arms  reversed.  The  militia  rushed 
forward,  and  some  surrounded  the  prisoners  and  hurried 
them  away  toward  the  grove.  Others  entered  the  house 
and  began  the  work  of  plunder.  The  wine  cellar  wras  emp 
tied,  and  its  contents  drunk  in  wild  glee,  while  the  flames 
were  setting  their  teeth  more  firmly  into  the  house. 

Just  then  Luke  Latimer  appeared,  authorized  by  the 
Directory  to  assume  command.  It  was  high  time,  indeed. 
Lacking  their  appointed  head  and  without  special  organi 
zation  and  leadership,  the  insurgents  were  little  better  than 
an  armed  mob.  That  they  did  not  cross  the  Chartiers  and 
destroy  the  house  of  Col.  Neville,  and  thence,  arousing  the 
country  as  they  went,  march  to  Pittsburg  and  seize  that 
town  and  fort,  was  due  to  the  self-restraint  of  men  who 
were  loath  to  go  to  extremes,  and  who  had  simply  wished 
to  strike  a  blow  in  defense  of  their  supposed  rights. 


224  THE    LATIMERS. 

Luke  Latimer  at  once  gave  directions  that  the  pris 
oners  should  be  protected,  and  having  been  disarmed, 
should  be  escorted  well  out  of  harm's  way  on  the  road  to 
Pittsburg,  and  there  released.  Then  he  turned  his  atten 
tion  to  saving  the  burning  mansion. 

His  efforts  were  in  vain.  The  house  was  utterly  de 
stroyed,  as  were  the  numerous  outbuildings,  save  only  the 
meat-house  under  the  wide-spreading  cak,  by  the  picket 
gate  when  John  Latimer  had  met  Blanche  after  their  long 
separation,  and  where  the  group  of  mournful  women  gath 
ered  to  go  forth  and  return  no  more.  This  humble  remnant 
of  what  was  once  the  noblest  edifice  in  the  Western  country, 
stood  for  nearly  a  century  thereafter  and  was  only  torn 
down  within  the  last  few  years. 

Meanwhile,  the  insurgents  were  slowly  leaving  the 
ground.  In  groups  and  companies  they  returned  to  their 
homes,  carrying  with  them  the  wounded  and  the  bodies  oi 
the  killed.  Many  had  grave  questionings  as  to  the  issue  oi 
that  day's  doings.  What  good  had  been  wrought?  Was 
the  event  a  failure  or  a  success  ?  How  would  Washington's 
Government  regard  it  and  regard  them?  But  underneath 
all  was  the  feeling  that  the  die  had  been  cast,  that  there 
was  now  no  honorable  retreat,  and  therewith  the  stern 
purpose  to  abide  by  their  cause  and  by  one  another  to  the 
uttermost. 

The  death  of  their  commander  cast  a  deep  shadow 
over  their  spirits,  and  "the  saddest  duty  remaining  was  to 
bear  his  corpse  to  his  desolate  home.  A  stretcher  was 
extemporized,  and  the  dead  captain  laid  thereon  and  car 
ried  "by  relays  along  the  road  over  which  they  had  come. 
Was  it  an  accident,  or  by  an  equitable  fatality  which  over 
rides  human  actions,  that  one  of  the  halts  for  rest  should 
have  been  beneath  the  great  walnut  tree  on  the  summit, 
whose  gnarled  roots  gave  a  pulpit  to  good  Father  Clark? 

So  again,  for  ill  news  flies  quickly,  when  the  new-made 
widow,  hearing  of  her  bereavement,  rode  forth  to  greet  the 
bearers,  she  came  upon  them  not  far  from  the  Mingo  Creek 
Church,  and  hard  by  the  spot  where  David  Bradford  with 
traitorous  and  illusive  logic  had  wooed  the  unhappy  man 
to  his  doom.  Still  the  waterfall  dashed  over  the  limestone 
ledges,  and  fell  with  monotonous  plash  into  the  deep  cool 
pool.  Still  the  bright  stream  rippled  over  its  bouldered 
bed,  and  the  droning  cadence  mingled  with  the  moans  of 


THE   LATIMERS.  225 

the  widow  as  she  cast  herself  upon  her  dead  and  bewailed 
her  loss.  There  was  no  change  in  the  note  the  waters  gave 
forth.  Neither  higher  nor  lower,  nor  sadder  nor  slower, 
but  with  equal  measure  and  unvarying  tone  they  kept  up 
their  accompaniment  to  cries  of  grief,  as  they  had  done 
to  the  pleading  of  sophistry.  So  they  have  done,  all  the 
century  since,  to  the  laughter  of  romping  children,  the  love 
speeches  of  wooing  country  swains,  the  barking  of  playful 
squirrels,  the  wrhistle  and  chirp  and  song  of  birds.  Always 
the  same,  with  infinite  indifference  or  infinite  sympathy, 
as  one  is  able  to  hear  it,  for  the  joys  or  woes  of  mortals.  So 
do  waterfall  and  brook  and  Nature's  multiform  voices  all, 
always  speak  to  the  sensitive  hearts  or  the  dull  ears  of 
men. 

In  the  rural  churchyard  on  the  hill-slope  beyond  the 
falls,  you  wrill  find  a  gray  and  lichen-covered  slab  of  lime 
stone  above  the  grave  wherein  friends  and  neighbors  laid 
the  unfortunate  leader  of  that  fight  on  the  day  of  his  burial 
from  the  Mingo  Creek  Church,  and  the  venerable  pastor 
Clark  to  lead  the  last  sad  offices  for  the  dead.  Upon  this 
"table  tomb"  you  may  read,  if  you  be  patient  to  trace  the 
well-nigh  illegible  carving,  the  following  epitaph: 

"Here  lies  the  body  of  Captain  James  McFarlane  of 
Washington  County,  Pennsylvania.  lie  departed  this  life 
the  17th  day  of  July,  1794,  aged  forty-three  years.  He 
served  through  the  war  with  undaunted  courage  in  the 
defence  of  American  independence,  against  the  lawless 
and  despotic  encroachments  of  Great  Britain.  He  fell  at 
last  by  the  hands  of  an  unprincipled  villain,  in  support  of 
what  he  supposed  to  be  the  rights  of  his  country,  much 
lamented  by  a  numerous  and  respectable  circle  of  acquaint 
ance." 

It  so  befell  that  John  Latimer,  who  had  gone  with 
Lieut.  Burd  and  the  soldiers  to  insure  their  safe  depar 
ture,  had  no  tidings  of  his  father's  hurt.  As  he  returned 
from  his  kindly  errand  he  met  Andy  Burbeck  and  a  friend 
supporting  the  wounded  man  between  them,  and  leading 
him  away  from  the  conflagration  and  out  of  the  hot  sun 
into  the  shade  of  the  woods.  He  was  pale  and  weak  from 
loss  of  blood,  and  from  pain  and  the  severe  strain  of  mar 
shalling  his  faculties  to  duty  when  so  grievously  worsted. 
Grief  at  McFarlaue's  death,  and  the  burden  and  anxiety 
of  responsibility,  and  apprehension  of  what  was  to  come 
15 


226  THE    LATIMERS. 

of  it,  added  wounds  of  the  spirit  to  bodily  hurts.  But 
when  John's  toving  and  hopeful  words  greeted  him,  and 
his  strong  arms  were  put  around  him,  while  Andy  ran 
away  for  the  surgeon,  he  cheered  up  a  bit. 

With  face  bathed,  and  a  cool  drink  from  the  spring  to 
quench  his  fevered  thirst,  and  refreshed  by  the  dressing 
of  his  wounds,  he  turned  his  thoughts  toward  home.  Two 
balls  had  struck  him,  one  shattering  the  forearm,  and  the 
other  penetrating  the  bunch  of  muscles  between  the 
shoulder  and  the  elbow.  A  severe  and  painful  wound,  the 
surgeon  said,  and  likely  to  leave  the  arm  stiff  and  mayhap 
unserviceable;  but  care  and  skillful  attention  would  give 
him  a  good  right  arm  after  all.  Scant  comfort,  Luke 
thought,  but  was  thankful  for  such  as  it  was.  A  quieter 
nag  was  found  for  him  than  his  bay  filly,  which  John  took, 
and  Andy  mounting  his  own  horse,  the  two,  riding  one  on 
either  side,  set  out  with  Luke  towards  home.  His  bridle 
arm  was  free,  and  he  fretted  against  the  offered  support 
to  keep  in  the  saddle,  which  nevertheless  was  sometimes 
needed.  When  in  the  cool  of  the  day  the  trio  rode  up  to 
the  Latimer  cabin,  it  was  with  sore  pain  and  difficulty  that 
Luke  could  dismount. 

All  along  the  painful  journey  the  thought  had  again 
and  again  reverted:  "What  will  my  wife  have  to  say? 
How  can  I  meet  her  after  all  her  warnings  and  prophecies 
of  evil?"  There  are  few  tendencies  in  human  nature, 
whether  of  male  or  female,  stronger  than  that  which 
prompts  to  the  triumphant- joyful,  or  triumphant-mourn 
ful,  but  whether  joyful  or  mournful  always  triumphant  "I 
told  you  so!"  It  takes  more  than  a  moiety  of  grace  or 
charity  or  good  sense  to  suppress  that  bit  of  self -righteous 
ness  within  us,  in  the  face  of  a  just  occasion  for  its  exer 
cise.  Luke  Latimer,  stout-hearted  as  he  was,  shrunk  from 
the  anticipation  of  that  more  than  he  had  done  from  the 
musket  balls  which  wounded  him.  Thus  he  came  to  his 
home. 

Mrs.  Latimer  had  been  on  the  lookout  all  the  day. 
Many  times  had  she  gone  to  door  or  window  to  gaze  down 
the  road.  As  the  day  advanced,  rumors  of  the  battle  began 
to  fly  here  and  there.  Some  were  exaggerated,  some  mini 
fied,  all  had  that  uncertainty  which  is  the  chief  factor  of 
torment  to  those  whose  loved  ones  are  exposed  to  danger. 

"At  long  last,  thank  God,  there  they  come!" 


THE   LATIMEES.  227 

She  recognized  the  horses  as  they  turned  the  bend  in 
the  road,  and  then  just  got  a  glimpse  of  the  familiar  forms 
of  husband  and  son.  Xot  waiting  to  take  in  the  details, 
and  so  failing  to  note  the  true  state  of  things,  she  hurried 
from  the  window  and  took  up  her  preparations  for  the  even 
ing  meal. 

Thankful?  Yes,  she  was  truly  so!  All  day  long  she 
had  been  hoping  for  and  dreading  that  moment.  Oh,  how 
gladly  would  she  welcome  those  beloved  forms!  How  ten 
derly  would  she  greet  them!  Could  she  do  enough  for  them, 
be  kind  enough  to  them  were  they  then  to  come? 

Thus  an  hundred  times  had  she  communed  with  her 
self  as  the  day  ran  on  to  its  close.  And  now,  no  sooner  had 
she  seen  them  coming  home  all  safe  and  well,  as  she 
judged,  than  her  mind  began  to  wax  indignant.  A  burn 
ing  sense  of  her  wrongs  came  over  her.  That  her  husband 
should  have  gone  off  on  his  madcap  doings,  and  left  her 
there  to  fret  and  grieve  and  be  miserable, — ah,  could  she 
bear  it  quietly?  Would  she?  The  jerky  manner  in  which 
she  swung  her  cooking  utensils,  and  the  emphatic  thump 
with  which  the  table  ware  dropped  into  place  as  she  set 
the  table,  argued  ill  for  her  coming  lord.  For  Mrs.  Polly 
had  a  biting  tongue  when  her  feelings  were  well  wrought 
up  to  set  it  agoing. 

The  horses  have  stopped  at  the  gate.  The  men  have 
alighted.  It  is  but  decent  that  she  should  go  to  the  door 
now,  and  smother  her  indignation,  too,  for  is  not  the  boy 
there? — and  he,  at  least,  has  done  no  harm. 

"Ah,  good  Lord,  what  is  this?  They  are  liftin'  my 
Luke  from  the  horse!  See  how  pale  he  is!  How  tottery 
on  his  two  legs!" 

Thus,  in  a  moment,  as  the  housewife  stood  upon  the 
doorsill,  all  her  sense  of  ill  usage  and  thoughts  of  resenting 
the  same  were  swept  into  nonentity  by  the  revulsion  of 
wifely  fear  and  love  which  that  vision  brought  on. 

"Oh,  Luke,  my  dear  love,  have  they  hurted  you?  Oh, 
my  husband,  let  me  help  you!" 

That  was  all  she  said.  Then  she  flew  to  him,  and  with 
kisses  and  tears  thrust  Andy  aside,  and  put  her  strong 
arms  about  the  hurt  man  and  assisted  him,  0  how  tenderly, 
into  the  house.  With  gentlest  and  deftest  touch,  as  she 
knew  well  to  give,  she  helped  to  disrobe  him,  jealous  almost 
of  John's  aid,  and  laid  him  in  the  best  bed,  and  brought 


228  THE    LATOIEKS. 

the  softest  pillows  and  snowiest  linen,  of  her  own  hands' 
weaving,  to  cushion  the  poor  hurt  arm. 

"God  bless  my  soul,  Polly!"  quoth  Luke,  as  he  put  his 
unwounded  arm  about  her  neck  and  kissed  her;  "it's  well 
worth  a  shot  or  two  to  see  you  like  this!  Don't  greet,  dear 
lass,  it's  nothin'  so  sayrious,  I  hope!" 

Now  the  neighbors  began  to  drop  in.  Mrs.  Peggy  Bur- 
beck  came;  and  Fanny  McCormack,  whose  skill  in  nursing 
lore  and  ways  the  whole  village  knew  and  trusted.  Mrs. 
Latimer  had  sent  for  her,  and  thereafter  suffered  no  one 
but  Fanny  to  share  with  her  the  care  of  her  husband 
while  his  wound  kept  him  to  his  couch.  Before  these  and 
other  incomers  the  good  wife  poured  forth  her  bitter 
reproaches  of  those  who  had  wrought  her  husband  such 
harm.  To  be  sure,  she  believed,  none  more  heartily,  that 
their  cause  was  righteous  and  their  defense  just  and  lawful. 
She  knew — no  one  knew  better — that  Luke's  part  in  the 
excise  plot  and  insurrection  was  wrong  and  utterly  inex 
cusable.  Time  and  again  had  she  denounced  to  him  his 
principles,  and  condemned  his  practice.  Yet,  nevertheless, 
she  could  find  in  her  heart  none  but  angry  feelings,  in  her 
thoughts  only  bitter  condemnation,  and  on  her  lips  noth 
ing  but  censure,  almost  malediction  of  those  who,  having 
been  assailed  with  deadly  weapons  by  her  husband  and  his 
friends,  retorted  upon  them  in  kind.  Had  he  come  home 
with  a  whole  skin  it  would  have  been  a  different  matter.  But 
with  his  poor  wounded  arm?  Ah,  that  was  quite  another 
affair. 

Inconsistent!  you  exclaim.  But  wherein,  pray?  And 
what  is  inconsistency?  Loyalty  to  heart,  or  to  intellect? 
to  one's  affections  or  to  one's  convictions?  Give  answer 
as  you  may,  the  world  shows  many  examples  of  inconsist 
ency  like  that  of  Mrs.  Polly  Latimer,  and  perhaps  is  none 
the  worse  therefor. 


THE    LATIMERS.  220 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

OPEN   WINDOWS   INTO   SUNDRY    SOULS. 

The  day  following,  Fanny  McCormack  stood  at  Luke 
Latimer's  bedside  preparing  to  dress  his  wound.  The 
sleeves  of  her  frock  were  rolled  up  to  leave  the  arms  free 
for  action.  Well  rounded  arms  they  were,  plump  and 
pink,  with  shapely  hands,  though  browned  and  perhaps 
somewhat  broadened  by  the  homely  duties  of  a  frontier 
maiden's  life.  It  is  good  to  note  the  satisfaction  with 
which  our  end-of-the-century  girls  watch  the  deepening 
hues  of  tan  that  the  wind  and  sun  of  a  seaside  resort  paint 
upon  their  skins.  .  Surely,  they,  at  least,  will  count  the  nut 
brown  of  Fanny's  hands  a  point  in  her  praise.  Or  does  the 
method  of  painting  affect  the  values  of  the  colors? 

The  gown  was  protected  by  a  white  linen  apron  that 
came  high  up  the  breast  with  shoulder  straps,  and  folded 
quite  around  the  skirts.  A  charming  uniform  this  for  a 
nurse,  or  for  any  of  our  women  folk,  the  author  thinks, 
who  has  early  memories  of  a  loved  form  thus  arrayed.  The 
trained  nurses  of  to-day  have  learned  how  serviceable  is 
such  a  garb,  and  how  becoming.  Is  that,  perhaps,  the 
secret  of  the  witchery  which  they  sometimes  cast  upon  the 
young  medical  internes  of  our  hospitals?  It  may  have 
been  this  snowy  over  garment  that  fixed  John  Latimer's 
eyes,  as  Fanny  McCormack  proceeded  with  her  neighborly 
duty,  and  which  set  his  mind  upon  a  train  of  admiring 
meditations. 

How  deftly  she  raises  the  poor  hurt  arm,  with  steady 
nerves,  and  equal  movement  that  starts  no  quivering  pains! 
What  a  swift  and  dainty  touch  she  brings  to  the  unbinding 
of  cords  and  wrappings,  and  snipping  the  same  with  the 
scissors  hanging  at  the  waist!  How  graceful  the  maiden's 
carriage  as  she  stoops  and  turns  and  makes  changes  of  arm 
in  her  merciful  work!  Surely,  he  never  before  saw  quite 
such  an  expression  as  that  on  Fanny's  face,  so  full  of  gen 
tleness  and  pity,  but  withal  bright  with  confidence  as 
though  to  infuse  comfort  and  hope. 

Might  he  help  her? 

No,  with  thanks!  She  could  do  nicely  without  aid.  But 


230  THE   LATIMERS. 

— yes,  if  he  would,  he  might  hold  the  basin  of  hot  water. 
There  was  a  bare  suggestion  of  a  smile  on  the  lips,  and  a  bit 
of  color  in  the  cheeks,  and  a  brightening  of  the  eyes  as  the 
maiden  cast  a  momentary  glance  upon  the  youth. 

Consent  thus  had,  John  came  to  the  service,  happy  if  he 
could  do  that  much  to  help  or  seem  to  help  relieve  his  suf 
fering  parent.  As  the  two  stood  together,  John,  while  doing 
his  part  as  need  required,  was  conscious  that  imagination 
had  set  another  womanly  form  into  the  group.  She  is 
slight  of  form  and  of  medium  stature,  not  tall  and  robust 
as  Fanny  is.  A  clear,  bright  brunette  she,  not  blonde;  with 
black  hair,  not  soft  chestnut  brown.  The  eyes  are  dark, 
even  black  under  the  play  of  feeling,  and  reflecting  light 
like  a  mirror,  not  blue  as  Fanny's, — are  they  light  blue, 
or  dark  blue?  Why,  he  had  never  thought  to  note  that 
before!  Springing  and  quick  are  the  movements  of  this 
visional  maid,  full  of  nervous  energy  and  verve;  not  with 
that  quieter  and  self-poised,  yes,  but  agile  and  graceful 
carriage  which  John  has  been  noting  this  morning. 

The  one's  mind  is  brilliant  with  poetical  fancy  and 
enthusiasm,  abounding  in  sallies  of  wit,  and  with  a  laugh 
that  rings  out  merrily  with  a  tinkle  like  soft  bells.  The 
other  maid  is  intelligent,  thoughtful,  practical,  simple  of 
speech,  with  quick  response  to  humor  and  with  quiet  hearty 
laugh. 

Blanche  and  Fanny! — the  Field  Lily  and  the  Wild 
Rose, — so  Featherfoot  had  aptly  named  them.  Goodly 
maidens  they,  and  pleasant  to  his  thought.  Strange  that 
they  should  come  thus  into  comparison  as  the  work  of 
unbinding  and  dressing  and  rebinding  that  wounded  arm 
went  on,  with  its  oft  repeated  query:  "Does  that  hurt?" 
and  the  uttered  "Oh,  it  was  awkward  of  me!"  Or,  "It  was 
too  bad,  excuse  me,  pray!"  when  the  hurt  man  winced  at 
some  sharper  pain.  Thus  the  voice  went  on  soothingly, 
cooing  as  a  mother  over  a  sick  child. 

All  his  life  John  had  known  Fanny  McCormack.  The 
two  had  gone  as  children  to  the  same  log  cabin  school,  and 
learned  together  the  mysteries  of  the  A,  B,  C,  and  spelled 
and  read  and  ciphered  together.  They  had  stood  up  side 
by  side  to  recite  the  Shorter  Catechism,  from  the  opening 
question  "What  is  the  chief  end  of  man?"  to  the  very  last 
thereof.  They  had  played  together  on  the  creek  side,  and 
gathered  field  lilies,  and  daisies,  and  black-eyed  Susans, 


THE   LATIMEKS.  231 

and  wild  roses,  and  goldenrod.  They  had  dug  calamus  and 
sweet  myrrh  in  the  spongy  flats,  and  plucked  blue  flags  by 
the  water  side.  They  had  paddled  about  in  the  low  run 
creek  together,  with  brown  bare  feet;  and  had  fished  for 
"minnies"  with  their  brown  wee  hands,  and  laughed  and 
splashed  as  the  fishlings  slipped  through  their  fingers,  and 
shot  away  with  a  gleam  from  their  silvery  sides  flashing 
through  the  water.  He  had  caught  the  pretty  water-snake, 
— what  a  bold  lad  he! — and  feigned  to  scare  therewith  his 
little  playfellow,  who  being  a  girl  must  shriek  and  shrink 
from  it,  although,  in  truth,  when  playing  with  her  girl- 
fellows  she  could  catch  water-snakes  in  her  own  hands,  and 
raise  no  to-do  about  it. 

In  the  autumn  they  had  gathered  hazel  nuts  together, 
and  black  haws,  and  wild  grapes  and  wild  gooseberries. 
When  hickory  nuts  and  chestnuts  were  ripe,  what  a  delight 
to  climb  the  trees,  and  club  down  the  tasty  fruits,  while 
Fanny  picked  them  up  and  put  them  into  piles,  and  stuffed 
the  hulled  seeds  into  the  big  linen  poke.  What  fun  to 
pound  out  the  white  or  brown  contents  from  the  unopened 
hulls,  and  betimes  pick  out  the  prickles  of  the  chestnut 
burr  from  Fanny's  fingers. 

Then  walnuts  and  buttercups  came,  and  the  boys  of 
his  age  could  neither  shame  nor  scare  him  from  letting  his 
little  sister  (he  called  her  "little"  though  he  was  not  much 
taller  then  than  she)  go  with  them  on  the  nutting  parties. 
What  a  deep  brown  stained  their  fingers  after  the  hulling 
of  those  nuts,  and  how  merry  the  laugh  as  they  compared 
hands  with  hands  to  see  which  might  be  the  browner! 
How  often  in  the  winter  time  had  he  coasted  with  her  in 
his  home-made  sled  down  the  village  hill, — "Sheep  Hill/7 
do  you  remember  it,  alumni  of  old  Jefferson? 

So  the  days  ran  on,  and  they  grew  up  together,  and 
dudied  and  played,  and  later  wrought  together.  He 
railed  her  his  "Sister  Fanny;"  and  truly  he  loved  her  as 
a  sister,  and  often  wished  that  indeed  and  truth  it  had  been 
so.  He  had  fancied  his  lost  sister  as  some  such  girl  as 
Fanny,  whom  he  put  in  the  lost  child's  place,  and  soma- 
times  called  her  "Meg."  At  the  spelling  match,  the  sing 
ing  school,  the  corn  shucking,  the  logging  bee,  he  had  been 
her  companion,  ah,  how  many  times! — for  he  would  not 
allow  his  "sister"  to  miss  any  of  the  frolics  that  were  going. 
In  good  sooth,  however,  there  was  small  need  of  fear  on 


232  THE    LATIMEKS. 

that  score,  for  most  of  the  frontier  swains  would  have  been 
too  happy  to  serve  as  her  squire,  and  were  happy  to  do  so, 
when  as  the  years  advanced,  John  was  often  absent  on  the 
duties  of  his  calling. 

After  such  absences,  next  to  the  home  welcome,  and 
the  picking  up  of  the  well-loved  ways  and  things  in  which 
he  delighted,  and  which  make  up  the  tale  of  home  attrac 
tions  for  young  spirits,  the  pleasantest  greeting  came  from 
his  sister  Fanny.  At  times  he  would  be  seized  with  that 
strange  unrest  which  comes  to  most  youth,  and  which  may 
hap  is  Nature's  method  of  distributing  the  species  and  pre 
serving  it,  like  the  impulse  that  sets  spiderlings  afloat  upon 
their  gossamer  balloons;  or  birdlings  to  twittering  and 
assembling  before  migration;  or  bees  to  excited  whirl  and 
buzz  within  the  scap  just  before  the  swarm.  At  such  times 
the  presence  of  his  sister  Fanny  soothed  and  rested  him 
as  nothing  else  could  do.  Thus  always  it  had  been.  Her 
loving  sisterly  words  made  him  quiet  and  glad,  and  set  him 
upon  his  highest  aims  and  keenest  mettle  for  better  and 
more  manly  things. 

But  Blanche  disturbed  him.  From  the  first  she  had 
set  astir  within  his  heart  an  eager  unrest  that  he  had  never 
felt.  She  had  awakened  a  longing  for  something,  he  knew 
not  what,  and  had  not  known  before,  which  even  her  pres 
ence  did  not  satisfy,  though  certainly  it  was  stronger  when 
he  was  not  near  her.  During  her  late  long  absence,  many  a 
time  had  he  felt  an  almost  uncontrollable  desire  to  go  where 
she  was.  Often  when  treading  deep  forests,  or  pushing  his 
canoe  on  the  river,  he  had  found  his  heart  leaping  up  at  the 
thought  of  her  return.  Oftenest  he  thought  of  her  as  he 
had  first  seen  her  when  guiding  his  keel  boat  down  the 
Ohio  River.  Again  and  again  the  incidents  and  perils  of 
that  eventful  week  were  recalled,  and  Blanche  thenceforth 
was  inseparably  associated  with  his  boat  the  "Fanny,"  and 
so  gave  to  its  rude  carpentry  a  beauty  that  only  himself 
discerned. 

Thus  insensibly  his  thoughts  swung  around  to  the 
scenes  of  the  day  before, — a  dreadful  memory!  Of  them 
all,  what  started  the  bitterest  thoughts,  and  set  the  blood 
flaming  on  his  cheeks,  and  knit  his  brows  and  kindled  a 
fierce  light  in  his  eyes?  Was  it  not,  that  henceforth  he 
must  stand  attainted  before  Blanche  Oldham  and  her  kin 
dred?  Twenty  long  months  had  they  been  separated  and 


THE    LATIMERS.  233 

then — such  a  meeting!    Would  they,  could  they  now  ever 
meet  again? 


"There,  that  will  do  nicely/'  said  Fanny,  in  a  voice  very 
sweet  the  invalid  thought,  as  she  laid  the  arm  freshly 
dressed  back  upon  Mrs.  Polly's  soft  pillows. 

"Yes,  indeed,  it  was  done  nicely!"  John  said.  "And 
who  is  there  besides  our  Fanny  in  all  the  border,  or  else 
where  for  that  matter,  could  have  done  such  a  service  so 
well?" 

The  pleased  and  grateful  look,  the  reddened  cheeks  and 
pleasant  "Oh,  you  flatter  me!"  as  the  basin  was  taken 
from  his  hands,  almost  soothed  the  passion  and  pride  that 
had  begun  to  foment  within  him.  As  he  saw  her  retire 
from  the  room  he  inwardly  resolved  that  nothing  which  a 
brother's  heart  and  hand  could  bring  her  should  ever  be 
awanting  to  make  Fanny  McCormack  a  happy  woman. 
Brother?  Yes;  but  just  now  it  came  to  him, — it  had  not 
occurred  before,  and  why  should  it  now? — that  for  many 
and  many  a  day  he  could  not  recall  that  she  had  called 
him  "brother"  as  she  had  done  in  earlier  and  happier  times. 

Strange!  and  by  no  means  agreeable  to  the  young 
man's  thoughts.  Could  it  be  that  another  affection  had 
broken  the  spell  of  childhood,  and  set  him  and  his  brotherly 
concern  for  her  into  the  background?  No  doubt,  no  doubt! 
But  who  can  the  favored  man  be  ?  Well,  well,  it  is  the  way 
of  the  world.  He  might  have  known  that  it  would  come 
sooner  or  later.  But,  if  he  be  not  worthy  of  such  a  woman, 
or  should  anyone  dare  to  trifle  with  Fanny's  love,  ah! — 
let  him  look  out! 

"John, — John  Latimer!"  His  father  had  spoken  twice 
ere  he  awakened  from  his  reverie  and  gave  heed.  "Sit  ye 
down  by  me  here,  I  have  summat  to  say  til  you,  my  boy." 
John  got  him  a  chair  and  sat  close  to  the  bed.  He 
smoothed  the  covers  with  his  hands,  though  they  needed 
no  such  care,  and  looked  down  lovingly  into  his  father's 
face.  "It  is  about  the  scoutin'  trip  I  wish  to  spake  til  ye, 
John,  an'  my  ingagement  with  Giner'l  Wayne.  I'm  out  of 
that  now,  more's  the  pity — ay,  an' — an'  out  of  all  scoutin' 
hereafter,  I  doubt,  for  that  matter."  His  voice  choked  a 
bit,  and  he  looked  at  his  swathed  arm: 

"No,  no,  don't  say  that,  father!"  cried  John.    "You  will 


234  THE    LATIMERS. 

be  all  right  soon,  and  many's  the  bonny  day  we'll  spend 
together  in  forest  and  on  river." 

"Ah,  John  lad,  it  cannot  be.  I  shall  niver  bear  rifle 
more  with  this  good  arm,  forby  a  shot  at  a  silly  deer,  or 
a  squirrel.  But  that's  as  it  may  be.  There's  One  aboon 
us  all,  and  His  will  be  done!  It's  not  that  I  want  to  talk 
about.  I  've  been  a-thinkin'  that  the  time's  up  for  you  to 
report  at  Pittsburg,  an'  carry  the  despatches  back  to 
Wayne." 

"Well,  father,  I  have  been  thinking  of  that  too,  and  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  that  I  shall  go  down  to  Pittsburg 
to-day,  tell  Panther  how  it  is,  and  let  him  go  alone  with  his 
message.  He  can  well  do  it,  and  I  must  not  leave  you 
now.  You  never  needed  me  more,  and  mother  needs  me, 
too.  I  dare  not  think  of  going  away  at  such  a  time,  taking 
the  chances  of  a  scout  and  you  in  these  straits." 

"Ah,  my  boy,  it's  good  in  you  to  say  that,  an'  I  '11  not 
deny  that  it  'ud  be  pleasant  to  have  you  with  us;  but 
there's  somethin'  more  important  nor  mere  comfort.  It's 
duty,  my  son,  duty!  I  pledged  my  word  to  jine  Cap'n 
Wells,  an'  I  niver  had  tho't  that  I  must  break  tryst.  Lettle 
did  I  drame  of  this,"  touching  his  wounded  arm,  "though 
I  ought  to  'a  thought,  no  doubt.  But  that's  nayther  here 
nor  there,  now.  There's  no  use  a-cryin'  over  spilt  milk. 
Here  I'm  laid  up  for  a  good  stent,  an'  you  must  go,  John, 
an',  make  my  pledge  good.  It  had  been  my  wush  an'  tho't 
to  kape  you  out  o'  the  scrimmage  an'  send  you 
back  to  look  after  your  mother.  She  has  none  but 
us,  since  poor  Meg's  gone,  an'  what  need  was  there  to  resk 
a-losin'  both  of  us  at  wanct?  As  Andy  says — God  bless  his 
honest  soul! — it's  well  not  to  put  all  one's  eggs  in  one 
basket.  -But  all  that's  revarsed  now.  I  must  stay  here, 
lad,  an'  you  must  go,  an'  God  bless  an'  presarve  you. 
Don't  say  me  nay;  my  heart's  sot  upon  it,  an'  I'm  sure  it's 
only  duty." 

John  yielded  the  point  grudgingly.  He  was  not  greatly 
troubled  about  the  hurt  arm;  that  would  get  well  in  time. 
But  he  was  much  concerned  for  the  consequences  of  the 
Bower  Hill  event.  Legal  processes,  military  occupation, 
arrests,  and  who  could  tell  what,  must  follow.  What  then 
would  befall  his  father,  one  of  the  leaders  in  the  offend 
ing?  Would  he  not  need  him  there  to  fend  for 
him,  and  to  save  him  from  the  penalty  of  his  deeds? 


THE   LATIMERS.  235 

Therefore  he  would  fain  have  stayed  at  home.  But  his 
father's  will  and  decree  were  otherwise,  and  these  had  been 
law  to  him  through  all  his  life  in  most  matters.  Indeed, 
he  had  sympathy  with  the  sentiment  that  had  been  uttered, 
for  duty  was  the  most  sacred  word  in  John's  vocabulary. 

"Thank  you,  son,  thank  you!"  said  Luke  with  a  tender 
ness  of  voice  that  he  did  not  often  show,  for  he  was  not  a 
demonstrative  man.  "I  feel  relaved  to  think  that  your 
sturdy  arm  will  be  a-doin'  my  duty  to  the  country.  I  have 
no  advice  to  give  ye.  Thank  God,  I  can  trust  you  wholly. 
Ye  've  been  a  good  lad,  John;  always  so.  I  've  niver  wanct 
had  a  heart-sore  along  o'  you,  all  your  days;  though  I  fear 
I've  often  been  a  careless  an'  mayhap  erring  parent  to 
you.  But  I  niver  meant  to  be  so,  John,  God  knows!" 

"Do  not  say  that,  father.  You  have  been  a  loving  and 
indulgent  parent  and  friend  always.  I  owe  everything  to 
you,  and  would  be  most  ungrateful  were  I  not  to  study  to 
love  and  serve  you  in  every  way." 

"Well,  well;  it  may  be  so.  I  hope  it  is  so  indade.  Sar- 
tain,  we  've  not  often  disputed  nor  differed  sayriously, 
savin'  about  the  axcise.  There,  lad!  Don't  spake  up. 
I'm  not  agoin'  to  open  that  subjec'  nor  to  sansure  you; 
quite  the  contrairy,  indade.  I've  had  a  slapeless  night, 
lad,  an'  manny  troubled  thoughts.  I've  seen  some  things 
different,  as  I  lay  here  a-dozin',  an'  thinkin'  of  that  burnin' 
house,  an'  them  pale  dead  faces,  an'  poor  McFarlane — ah! 
Well,  I  would  willin'ly  give  up  my  life  to  bring  him  back, 
as  God  is  my  judge!  An'  me  innooencin'  him  to  take  the 
lade  of  us!  I  don't  disguise  that  I  knowed  'at  wounds  an' 
death  must  come  with  sich  interprises  as  our'n;  but  I  didn't 
jist  think  o'  that  partic'lar  way.  Human  affairs  are  like 
scenes  on  the  river  banks  viewed  from  a  boat  amid-stream; 
they  have  mighty  different  faytures  lookin'  fora'd  from  the 
bow  from  what  they  hava  a-lookin'  back'ard  from  the 
starn.  It  was  one  thing  while  we  were  a-plannin'  affairs, 
but  quite  another  now  they  're  done  an'  can't  be  recalled. 
It  was  niver  in  our  plans  to  burn  the  house,  John,  niver! 
Nor  did  we  wush  to  shed  blood.  We  thought  Giner'l 
Neville  would  surely  yield,  an'  that  we  could  gain  our 
p'int  p'acefully.  Ah!  we  trusted  to  an  unknown  horse,  an' 
he  tuk  the  bit  in  his  teeth  an'  ran  away  with  us. 

"Ahbut,  it's  too  late  now  to  mand  matters.  We  've 
made  our  bed  an'  we  must  lie  in  it;  an'  I  for  wan  won't 


236  THE   LATIMEKS. 

grumble  if  it  proves  a  briery  wan.  Mayhap  I  was  too  fast, 
an'  let  my  anger  an'  pride,  ay,  an'  my  principles,  carry  me 
too  far.  You  know,  John,  that  my  whole  heart  an'  con 
science  were  in  this  business,  an'  are  to-day  for  that  mat 
ter;  though  mayhap  I  've  gone  too  far.  Leastways,  John, 
I've  naught  to  say  agin'  your  principles,  now.  Perhaps 
there  's  more  in  'em  nor  I  iver  allowed.  But  be  that  as  it 
may,  go  you  forth  an'  do  your  duty  like  a  man,  an'  a 
Christian,  an'  a  patriot,  an'  the  good  God  of  us  all  go  with 
you,  an'  shield  you  from  harem!  Now,  my  son,  good  bye. 
I  nade  sleep  sorely,  an'  may  not  be  awake  till  you're  off, 
for  this  is  business  that  requires  haste.  God  bless  you. 
Good  bye." 

Having  made  his  few  needed  preparations,  John  came 
next  to  bid  his  mother  good  bye.  He  dreaded  the  inter 
view,  for  Mrs.  Latimer  had  been  much  perturbed  in  spirit 
since  the  coming  home  of  her  wounded  husband.  She  was 
a  woman  of  cool  head  and  good  judgment,  not  given  to 
tears  or  tantrums,  meeting  fortune  fairly,  whether  good  or 
bad,  and  thus  taking  the  changes  and  chances  of  life  with 
more  than  common  self-control.  But  to  all  this  there  was 
one  exception;  any  sickness  or  hurt  that  came  to  her  hus 
band,  or  serious  threatening  of  ill  to  him  upset  her  mental 
equipoise.  Then  she  became  flustered,  and  blundered 
strangely  in  her  domestic  duties,  and  had  fits  of  crying,  and 
talking  to  herself  aloud  with  divers  ejaculations  and  self- 
upbraidings.  She  seemed  like  one  consumed  with  fear  of 
an  impending  calamity,  or  as  one  racked  with  mental  tor 
ture,  or  goaded  by  a  troubled  conscience.  All  morning 
had  she  been  showing  these  symptoms,  and  John  feared 
to  approach  her  with  the  news  that  he  was  immediately  to 
return  to  the  Western  forests. 

Not  finding  her  in  living  room  or  kitchen,  he  went  up 
to  his  own  room  in  the  attic  for  something  needed,  and  as 
lie  ascended  the  stair  heard  the  sound  of  his  mother's 
voice.  He  paused  on  the  landing,  and  as  the  door  was  ajar, 
could  see  through  the  scant  opening  that  his  mother  was 
kneeling  in  prayer  before  his  bed.  His  Bible,  the  book  res 
cued  from  the  Ohio  River  flood,  was  spread  open  before 
her.  In  the  few  moments  that  he  stood  thus  surprised  and 
hesitant,  some  broken  sentences  of  the  prayer  came  to 
him. 

"Oh,  good  Lord,"  she  said,  "spare  him,  and  spare  me! 


THE    LATIMERS.  237 

I  would  *  *  *  but  I  cannot  now.  *  *  *  Give 
me  courage,  for  my  heart  is  weak  to  do  my  duty  and  yield 
to  Thy  will.  0  Lord,  forgive  and  help  me,  and  I  *  *  * 
but  not  now,  not  now!  I  am  a  weak  woman  *  *  *  yet 
a  little  longer  thy  handmaid  will  be  true  to  Thee,  true  to 
*  *  *  at  last  *  *  *  0  Lord,  bless  the  lad!  Keep  him 
through  evil  report  and  good  report.  Presarve  him  from 
dangers  seen  and  unseen,  from  temporal  and  spiritual  foes, 
from  sin  and  the  second  death.  Keep  him  steadfast  and 
true.  0  good  Lord,  save  him  from  the  deceivers'  accursed 
way,  from  the  crooked  and  thorny  path  of  those  whoso  lips 
utter  falsehood  and  whose  lives  enact  them  *  *  *  " 

John  turned  from  the  spot  that  seemed  like  hallowed 
ground,  and  tiptoed  down  the  stair.  And  is  it  not  hallowed 
ground,  the  place  where  mothers  are  wont  to  wrestle  with 
God  for  their  children?  Leaving  until  later  the  duty  of 
saying  farewell  to  his  mother,  John  walked  up  the  street 
to  Fanny  McCormack's  home.  The  house  was  midway  of 
the  hill,  close  by  the  log  store  which  her  father  kept.  And 
there  you  may  see  it  to-day,  its  homely  rudeness  hidden 
beneath  the  entwining  green  of  a  climbing  vine.  Fanny 
was  spinning  flax  in  the  front  cabin  room.  The  great 
wheel  was  set  revolving  rapidly  with  one  hand,  and  as  it 
sent  out  its  musical  whirl,  the  spinner  retreated  backward, 
keeping  the  coarse  thread  in  one  hand  and  guiding  and 
twisting  it  with  the  other,  holding  it  aloft,  at  times,  as  it 
faintly  purred,  and  twisted  itself  into  firmer  proportions. 
Then,  when  it  was  twisted,  forward  went  the  spinner  to  the 
wheel,  the  thread  gradually  shortening  as  it  wound  itself 
around  the  spindle. 

It  is  a  right  womanly  exercise,  yes,  right  queenly  in 
deed,  worthy  of  the  fairest  and  daintiest  daughters  of  these 
modern  days,  who  might  becomingly  revive  it  along  with 
some  of  the  other  ancient  manners,  or  perhaps  one  would 
better  say  modes,  that  they  affect.  Colonial  architecture, 
colonial  furniture  and  colonial  frocks  would  give  a  worthy 
setting  to  a  colonial  industry  like  the  great  spinning  wheel 
at  which  Fanny  McCormack  wrought  with  a  cunning  hand. 
For  a  little  while  the  conversation  ran  on  without  hinder 
ing  the  maiden's  work.  But  when  John  came  to  say  the 
last  word,  the  rolls  of  yarn  were  hung  upon  the  post,  and 
the  buzzing  wheel  stopped. 

"We  are  loath  to  see  you  go,  John,"  said  Fanny,  as  she 


238  THE   LATIMERS. 

followed  him  toward  the  door,  "and  shall  sorely  miss  you, 
as  we  always  do.  But  you  have  chosen  rightly,  for  you 
could  not  go  counter  to  your  father's  will.  Good  bye,  and 
may  Heaven  keep  you,  and  bring  you  back  again  soon  and 
well." 

John  turned,  ere  he  crossed  the  door  sill,  and  took  both 
of  Fanny's  hands  in  his  own,  and  held  them  there  while  he 
spoke.  Fanny  listened,  now  with  eyes  looking  with  kind 
steadfastness  into  his,  and  again  with  face  bent  downward. 

"My  dear  Fanny,"  he  said,  "you  have  been  to  me 
through  all  our  lives  all  that  a  sister  could  have  been. 
Will  you  not  for  my  sake,  as  well  as  for  theirs,  watch  over 
father  and  mother?  You  can  do  more  with  them  than 
anyone  else;  and  I  shall  go  with  a  lighter  heart  if  I  know 
that  you  will  try  to  cheer  their  loneliness.  Ah,  if  Sister 
Meg  had  lived,  they  might  have  had  someone  like  your 
self,  a  daughter  to  love,  and  comfort  and  help  them.  I 
have  made  up  rny  mind  that  this  shall  be  my  last  cam 
paign.  If  I  return,  I  will  never  leave  my  parents  again. 
If  1  should  fall — then,  Fanny,  who  could  comfort  them  so 
well  as  you?" 

"Come,  come,  John,"  said  Fanny,  "we'll  not  think  of 
that!  You'll  be  back  again,  I  promise  you,  as  full  of  life 
and  hope  as  ever.  You're  a  little  doncie  now  on  account  of 
your  father's  hurt.  But  he  will  get  on  very  well,  I  am  sure; 
and  you  may  depend  on  me  to  do  all  that  I  can  to  help  on 
a  speedy  cure,  and  to  cheer  both  him  and  your  mother." 
She  spoke  with  cheerful  voice,  but  there  was  a  quiver 
about  her  eyelids  that  betokened  suppressed  feeling.  She 
had  mastered  her  emotions  that  her  friend's  sadness  might 
get  no  deeper  tinge  through  her. 

"Thank  you,  Fanny,  with  all  my  heart,"  said  John. 
"And  now  one  thing  more  before  I  go.  I  have  sometimes 
fancied  of  late  that  the  old  sisterly  feeling  which  you  bore 
me  may  have  changed.  I  can  hardly  remember  when  you 
have  called  me 'brother' as  you  used  to  do — as  you  have  done 
since  childhood.  Is  it  all  a  fancy,  or  have  I  noted  truly 
that  you  have  been  more  constrained  and  reserved  in  your 
wrays  with  me?  It  has  made  me  think,  sometimes,  that 
some  one  else  has  come  into  your  heart  to  hold  a  nearer 
place." 

"Oh,  John!  How  could  you — :'  Fanny  began.  She 
spoke  with  quick,  tense  tones,  and  withdrew  her  hands 
from  John  who  forthwith  interrupted  her. 


THE   LATIMERS.  239 

"Do  not  think  that  I  am  jealous!"  he  said.  "On  the 
contrary,  I  shall  always  be  happy  in  your  happiness,  and 
shall  try  to  love  and  honor  whomsoever  you  honor  and 
love.  But  I  have  thought  you  might  confide  in  me,  and 
gt\e  me  the  privilege  of  a  brother — "  Here  Fanny  inter 
rupted  the  speech,  and  this  she  did  with  emphatic  utterance 
and  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"There,  John,  that  will  do!"  she  exclaimed.  "No  more 
of  that  if  you  have  the  least  regard  for  me.  You  are  quite 
wrong  in  both  your  conjectures.  You  are  just  the  same  to 
me  that  you  have  always  been;  and  as  to  someone  else — 
nonsense!  I  promise  that  you  shall  not  be  the  last  to  know 
of  such  an  event — when — it  happens.  But  you  have  said 
enough,  foolish  boy!  Be  off  with  you,  and  Heaven  keep 
you!" 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  turned  quickly  from  the 
door,  setting  her  back  toward  it  and  hiding  her  face  as  she 
took  up  her  spinning  work.  It  was  due  time,  indeed,  for 
her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  there  was  an  unwonted  light 
in  her  eyes.  The  tears  which  had  only  been  held  back 
by  the  maiden's  strong  will  flowed  freely,  and  dropped 
upon  the  linen  rolls  that  she  clasped  and  fumbled  and 
pulled  apart  with  nervous  twitching  of  her  fingers. 

Stupid  John! 

This  duty  done,  not  without  some  misgivings  lest  it 
had  been  overdone,  John  went  to  the  Burbeck  cabin  to 
complete  his  mission  of  filial  love  by  enlisting  Andy  in  his 
father's  service.  Bounce  came  forth  with  jubilant  barks 
of  welcome  and  excited  wags  of  the  tail,  and  mayhap  with 
vivid  hopes  of  an  outing  after  forest  game  so  often  enjoyed 
in  John's  leadership. 

"Not  to-day,  Bounce.  No  hunting  to-day,  old  fellow. 
Down,  sir,  down!"  for  the  dog  kept  leaping  upon  him,  after 
the  fashion  of  his  kind  to  utter  their  satisfaction.  At  these 
words  Bounce  sank  to  earth  and  followed  at  John's  heels, 
but  with  eager  whines  that  seemed  to  carry  a  note  of  dis 
appointment  and  remonstrance. 

Mrs.  Peggy  Burbeck  met  John  with  a  cordial  greeting, 
her  own  manner  betokening  sympathy;  but  a  twinkle  was 
in  her  black,  snappy  eyes,  as  she  said:  "An'  aven  you,  Mr. 
John,  were  at  the  riot!  Sure  I  wouldn't  'a  tho't  that  a  pair 
of  black  eyes  could  ?a  run  quite  away  with  you.  What, 
man,  did  you  think  to  capture  Miss  Oldham  with  your 


240  THE   LATIMEES. 

bow  and  spear,  and  take  her  to  wife  like  the  Benjamites 
in  Israel  of  old,  whether  she  would  or  no?" 

"Come,  come,  Mrs.  Burbeck,  you  must  not  think  that 
everybody  is  like  Andy,  and  bound  to  fall  in  love  with 
black  eyes  and  ruddy  brown  cheeks.  But  a  truce  to  that 
matter,  henceforth.  There  are  some  subjects — 

"Ay,  ay,"  broke  in  Andy,  "it's  ill  jokin'  with  the  watch 
dog,  Peggy,  lass.  Least  said  is  soonest  manded.  Take  a 
sate,  Cap'n  Jock.  Down,  Bounce!  Out  wi'  ye,  Betty.  It's 
not  your  day  the  day,  and  dogs  like  children  should  be 
seen  and  not  h'arrd." 

"Thank  you,  Andy,"  said  John,  "I  must  away  at  once. 
I  have  just  come  to  say  good  bye,  and  do  a  bit  of  business. 
We  want  you  to  take  charge  of  the  keel  boat  and  attend  to 
our  ferrying  and  carrying  until  father's  wound  shall  be 
healed,  or  until  I  return.  I  am  anxious  you  should  con 
sent,  for  I  know  father  will  be  content  to  leave  the  business 
in  your  hands,  and  I  shall  go  away  with  a  far  easier  mind 
if  that  matter  is  comfortably  settled." 

"Ahbut,  Mr.  John,"  said  Peggy,  ere  her  husband  could 
give  answer.  "Have  you  bethought  you  well  of  what 
you  're  a-doin'?  Trust  Andy  Burbeck,  when  the  whuskey 
boys  are  out  an'  riotin's  a-fut?  He'd  be  off  at  the  sound 
of  the  first  gun,  an'  away  meanderin'  with  the  military, 
an'  a-house  burnin',  an'  what  not.  If  one  can't  take  care 
of  himself,  how  is  he  to  be  trusted  to  take  care  of  another? 
I'd  as  soon  trust  a  skunk  to  buy  my  perfumery  as  set  a  man 
that  don't  mind  his  own  business  to  take  care  of  the  busi 
ness  of  another  man.  Indade,  Mr.  John,  I'm  greatly  feared 
it  would  git  us  all  intil  trouble  were  Andy  to  take  up  with 
your  freightin'  business." 

"Aisey  there,  Peggy,  aisey  now!"  exclaimed  Andy. 
"Touch  the  sore  place  lightly,  lass.  A'm  no  warse  nor  my 
neighbors;  an'  Cap'n  John  knows  well  what  tuk  me  to 
Bower  Hill,  an'  that  A'  only  went  to  look  after  his  father. 
Didn't  A'  promise  him  A'd  do  it,  an'  his  mother,  too?  An' 
troth,  isn't  Luke  Latimer  my  best  fri'nd,  an'  would  you 
have  me  desart  him  in  a  time  o'  nade  ?" 

"Goodness-gracious-me!"  exclaimed  Peggy,  lifting  up 
her  eyes  heavenward,  and  clasping  hands  before  her  in  an 
attitude  of  devotion.  "Here's  Andy  Burbeck  turned  saint! 
An'  oh,  the  vartues  an'  powers  of  him!  Saint  Andy  pre 
serve  us,  says  I.  Well,  well!  You  men  are  all  alike,  the 


THE   LATIMERS.  241 

whole  clamjamfrey  of  ye,  an'  it's  small  nade  to  argy  with 
ye.  There  niver  was  a  man,  I  do  belave,  who  couldn't  ray- 
son  himself  intil  annything  he  has  a  mine-tuh.  It's 
amazin'  what  nayteral  gifts  men  have  for  bamboozlin'  of 
themselves,  to  say  nought  of  others.  Now  here's  my  Andy, 
if  he  could  only  be  as  succissful  in  convartin'  sinners  intil 
the  way  of  righteousness  as  he  is  in  convincin'  himself 
that  he's  in  the  right  way,  Lord  'a  marcy,  what  a  powerful 
pr'acher  he  would  be!  An'  so  vou  wint  intil  the  Bower 
Hill  fight  jist  to  look  after  Luke  Latimer?  U-hum!  It's 
a  poor  way  indade  to  convart  a  sinner,  by  goin'  a-sinnin' 
with  him.  If  the  tree  hadn't  given  a  handle  to  the  helve, 
the  axe  would  niver  'a  cut  down  the  tree.  Sure,  sence  ye've 
turned  so  pious  like,  ye  might  mind  what  Scriptur  says 
about  the  blind  ladein'  the  blind  an'  both  a-fallin'  intil 
the  ditch.  An'  it  'ud  'a  been  a  poor  consolation  to  me  if  a 
bullet  had  'a  gone  through  ye,  to  think  ye'd  got  it  all  along 
of  fellowship  for  Luke  Latimer." 

"Whist,  now,  Peggy  dear,"  said  Andy  in  a  soothing 
tone,  for  he  saw  that  his  wife's  feelings  were  being  wrought 
up  into  high  fervor  by  her  own  heat.  "All's  well  that  inds 
well,  lass;  an'  you  should  thank  God  for  your  marcies,  an' 
not  fly  intil  the  face  o'  Providence  by  complainin'.  Ivery 
bullet  has  its  billet,  ye  ken,  an'  A'  was  not  the  billet  for 
anny  Bowerr  Hill  musket  balls,  an'  am  not  like  to  be,  A' 
promise  you,  in  the  future.  An'  it's  bein'  in  charrge  of  the 
boat,  an'  havin'  stiddy  impPyment  that  '11  be  like  to  kape 
me  out  of  the  rrisins  an'  rriots,  for  it's  a  rocky  ship  that 
nades  ballast  most,  you  know.  So  jist  give  o'er,  and  say  no 
more,  an'  A'll  accep'  the  offer  Cap'n  Jock  brings,  an' 
thanks  for  the  same.  An'  you  may  depand  on  me,  John, 
to  do  ma  duty;  an'  there's  my  hand  on  it!" 

"Thank  you,"  said  John,  as  he  took  the  proffered  palm. 
"I'm  sure  that  you  will  do  your  best."  This  matter  set 
tled,  he  bade  the  worthy  couple  good  bye,  and  turned  to 
his  father's  cottage.  He  dreaded  the  meeting  with  his 
mother  and  was  well  pleased  to  find  her  busy  about  her 
household  duties,  in  a  subdued  but  not  mournful  temper. 
When  he  came  to  give  his  farewell  kiss,  the  tears  and  pet- 
tishness  and  remonstrance  which  he  had  looked  for  were 
wanting.  There  was  something  more  than  a  quiet  resigna 
tion  in  her  manner  of  parting  with  her  son  who  was  going 
forth  to  perilous  service.  Somewhat  of  encouragement 
16 


242  THE   LATIMEES. 

even.  Did  not  her  husband  wish  it?  Had  he  not  so  bid 
den?  Would  not  the  fact  of  John's  going  greatly  ease 
Luke's  troubled  mind,  and  by  so  doing  much  favor  the 
healing?  Who  was  she,  then,  to  hinder  or  stay  the  youth, 
and  thwart  and  cross  her  husband's  will,  and  thus  excite 
his  poor  distraught  mind? 

Distraught?  Yes.  Coming  forth  from  her  prayer  in 
John's  room,  she  had  heard  a  sound  as  of  men  conversing 
in  Luke's  room.  Who  could  have  come  in?  Had  not  Luke 
given  order  not  to  be  disturbed?  Drawing  near,  she  found 
the  door  ajar,  and  waiting  a  moment  before  entering,  she 
heard  her  husband's  voice,  but  how  strangely  altered!  He 
was  speaking  with  passionate  fervor  and  in  upbraiding 
tones.  Dear  heart!  Could  it  be  John  that  he  was  thus 
scolding?  And  what  offense  had  the  lad  given?  Surely 
Luke  had  never  before  so  railed  at  him.  "Idiot!"  he  cried, 
and  then  followed  a  deep  groan.  "Fool!  fool!  0-oh! 
What  nade  to  go  there  an'  mix  yourself  in  with  sich  doin's! 
*  *  *  A  rioter  *  *  *  traitor.  *  *  *  Ay,  a 
man-slayer! —  Then  followed  a  sharp  sound  as  of  a  hand 
smiting  upon  a  face. 

"Good  fathers!"  muttered  Polly,  starting  forward.  "Has 
he  struck  the  lad?"  She  stood  with  hands  upon  the  latch, 
and  looked  into  the  room.  There  was  no  one  therein  save 
Luke,  who  sat  up  in  his  bed,  and  with  flushed  cheek  and 
scowling  brow  and  distraught  manner  thrust  the  fingers 
of  his  unharmed  hand  into  his  hair  and  pulled  thereat. 
Then  again  came  the  sound  that  had  startled  her,  and  she 
saw  him  smite  his  cheek  with  his  open  palm,  and  heard  him 
grind  his  teeth  and  give  forth  passionate  mutterings  that 
came  to  her  in  broken  sentences. 

"Lord,  Lord!"  he  cried,  falling  back  upon  the  supplica 
tions  of  Scripture.  "Lord,  remember  David!  *  *  * 
seize  and  despoil  us  of  our  property?  *  *  *  helpless 
paupers  in  our  old  age?  Oh,  my  poor  wife!  *  *  * 
John!  John?  Ah,  if  his  loyalty  and  troth  might  save  us!" 

Then  he  hurled  down  his  arm  until  the  bed  shook,  and 
threw  his  head  back  upon  his  pillow  and  groaned.  Mrs. 
Polly  stole  away  from  the  door  noiselessly,  and  stood 
within  the  room  with  bowed  face  and  folded  arms,  waiting, 
thinking,  listening.  All  was  still. 

She  smoothed  down  her  apron  to  the  corners  and  flung 
forth  the  imaginary  lapful  of  troubles,  and  sat  down. 


THE   LATIMERS.  243 

Then  in  her  heart  she  prayed  (how  fervently!)  for  her  hus 
band.  The  scene  had  come  to  her  as  a  revelation.  Most 
marvellous,  that  glance  into  her  Luke's  soul!  Wh6  would 
have  thought  such  force  and  passion  therein  ?  How  would 
that  inward  fighting  end?  Pride,  duty,  fear,  self-interest, 
home  loves,  patriotism,  hatred  of  tyranny,  the  sense  of  in 
justice  and  wrong,  all  were  contending  upon  the  field  of 
thought  before  the  high  judicatory  of  Conscience. 

Then  the  good  wife  bethought  her  of  John,  and  of  the 
words  of  hope  her  husband  had  linked  with  him.  Yes, 
after  all,  the  lad  might  deliver  them  from  the  paw  of  the 
lion  and  of  the  bear!  Luke  was  right;  John  must  go!  For 
his  own  sake,  to  take  him  far  from  these  disturbed  parts; 
for  Luke's  sake,  that  the  poor  vexed  heart  might  get  easing. 
So  she  arose  and  went  gently  about  her  work,  pausing  ever 
and  anon  to  hearken  towards  Luke's  bedroom.  All  there 
was  quiet.  At  last  her  husband  slept.  Then  John  arrived, 
and  thus  it  came  about  that  her  subdued  spirit  gave  him  a 
calm  farewell,  and  only  quiet  tears  and  trembling  lips 
showed  the  deep  concern  that  went  forth  with  her  maternal 
blessing. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


The  next  day  John  Latimer  received  from  Major  Butler 
a  packet  for  General  Wayne,  and  set  forth  with  Panther 
to  deliver  it.  The  scouts'  course  lay  westward  into  the 
deep  forest  solitude,  among  hostile  savages,  to  give  the 
strength  of  their  hands  and  hearts  to  the  final  blow  that 
won  the  great  central  West  to  Anglo-Saxon  civilization. 
It  is  not  the  purpose  of  this  tale  to  follow  John  Latimer 
through  the  events  of  the  next  five  days.  If  the  curious 
reader  would  follow  his  route,  let  him  trace  upon  the  map 
the  course  of  the  Ohio  River  to  the  mouth  of  the  Hock- 
hocking,  and  thence  up  that  stream  a  hundred  miles  or  so 
to  the  northwest,  as  far  as  a  canoe  will  run. 

Here  leaving  their  boat  in  hiding,  the  scouts  travelled 
westward  to  the  Scioto  River.  There  under  cover  of  night 
they  captured  a  canoe  from  an  Indian  village,  and  pushed 
up  the  river  sixty  miles  or  more  beyond  what  is  now  the 


244  THE   LATIMERS. 

town  of  Kenton.  Thence  bearing  west  they  struck  the 
southern  fork  of  the  Auglaize,  and  readily  fell  in  with  Cap 
tain  Wells7  company  of  scouts  whom  they  had  come  to  join. 
These  men  continually  circled  around  the  wings  of  Wayne's 
advancing  Legion,  keeping  the  Commander  advised  of  the 
movements  of  the  savages.  They  held  the  Indian  villages 
in  terror  by  their  daring  adventures,  thus  diverting  attacks 
from  the  flanks  and  rear  of  the  army. 

Gen.  Wayne  had  kept  his  forces  in  winter  quarters  at 
Greenville  on  the  western  fork  of  the  Little  Miami,  and 
late  in  July  turned  his  face  westward.  He  marched 
through  the  wilderness,  pushing  toward  the  northwest 
borders  of  the  present  State  of  Ohio.  Panther  was  sent 
forward  to  Gen.  Wayne  with  the  despatches,  and  John  at 
once  fell  into  duty  with  the  scouts.  Among  them  was  Kob- 
ert  McClellan  and  others  once  famous  on  the  borders,  but 
whose  deeds  and  names  have  now  passed  into  oblivion. 
One  of  these  excursions  had  an  issue  which  deeply  con 
cerned  some  of  the  characters  of  this  story,  and  so  must 
have  place  here.  McClellan  was  sent  out  with  John  and 
Morton  Sheldon  to  feel  for  the  enemy  along  the  right  wing 
of  the  Legion.  They  crossed  the  Scioto,  following  the  trail 
along  which  Panther  and  John  had  lately  come,  and  so  to 
the  head  waters  of  the  Hocking,  where  they  learned  that 
war  parties  were  gathering  at  an  Indian  town  near  the  site 
of  Lancaster,  Ohio. 

Setting  forth,  they  cautiously  threaded  the  forest,  bend 
ing  their  course  towards  the  hills  overlooking  the  Hocking 
Valley,  whose  western  termination  is  known  as  Mount  Pleas 
ant.  This  is  a  cliff  several  hundred  feet  high,  which 
projects  like  a  spur  from  the  adjacent  range,  from  which 
it  is  separated  by  a  deep  ravine.  Towards  the  river  the  cliff 
descends  sheer  to  the  plain,  forming  an  almost  perpendicu 
lar  fall.  On  this  lofty  point  our  scouts  established  them 
selves,  for  it  commanded  a  wide  view  of  the  valley  beneath. 
Moreover,  it  was  a  solitary  place,  not  within  the  usual  beat 
of  the  Indians,  and  being  in  a  measure  isolated,  was  com 
paratively  safe  and  defensible. 

It  was  a  striking  and  beautiful  scene  that  now  opened 
up  before  the  three  men,  and  by  one  of  them  at  least  the 
natural  beauties  of  the  outlook  were  not  unnoted.  On  one 
hand  was  the  bold  ridge  capped  by  huge  rocks  that  over 
hung  the  ravine  and  ribbed  its  side.  The  forest  foliage 


THE   LATIMEES.  245 

around  the  ridge  was  clad  in  the  deep  green  of  mature 
summer,  and  flashing  with  the  high  lights  of  the  August 
sun.  To  the  north  and  west  stretched  the  river  valley  or 
prairie.  Its  margins  were  carpeted  with  lush  prairie  grass, 
and  dotted  with  wild  flowers  whose  coarse  stalks  got  abso 
lution,  in  one's  thoughts,  because  of  the  sturdy  vigor  which 
enabled  them  to  bear  their  parti-colored  blooms  above  the 
stiff  greening  within  which  they  grew. 

Beyond  this  margin  of  untutored  nature  lay  a  circle  of 
corn  fields  wherein  the  Indian  maize  grew  tall  and  rank, 
the  stalks  drooping  their  broad  leaves  like  ships'  pennants 
in  a  calm,  and  holding  up  their  husk-covered  ears  with 
browning  tassels  on  the  tips.  Beyond  the  corn  fields  and 
nearer  the  river  lay  the  village,  laid  out  towards  the  centre 
with  some  show  of  regularity,  but  with  wigwams  scat 
tered  irregularly  upon  the  outskirts.  Now  and  again 
newly-arrived  war  parties  would  make  their  bivouac  in 
groups  upon  the  outer  circle.  Their  coming  would  set  in 
play  the  wild  passions  of  the  savage  populace,  and  there 
followed  great  tumult  and  whooping,  and  leaping  about 
over  the  plain. 

There  is  nothing  in  material  nature,  however  beautiful 
and  strange,  that  can  rival  in  attractiveness  to  man  the  life 
and  behavior  of  his  fellow  men.  Thus,  John  Latimer 
turned  from  the  landscape  before  him  with  deeper  interest 
in  the  panorama  of  human  life  hourly  unrolled  beneath 
him.  Women  were  at  work  in  the  fields  and  about  the 
wigwams.  Young  mother  came  and  went  with  papooses 
strapped  upon  their  backs;  and  motherly  pride  and  indi 
vidual  taste  showed  in  beaded  ornaments  wrought  upon 
their  tergal  cradles  precisely  as  in  the  outfits  for  infants 
of  our  own  homes.  Here  children  played  with  hearty 
laugh  and  frolic,  the  young  lads  mimicking  the  warlike 
scenes  enacted  around  them.  On  another  part  of  the  field 
young  braves  were  engaged  in  their  favorite  games  of  ball, 
throwing  the  tomahawk,  and  shooting  with  bow  and  arrow, 
with  as  much  zest  and  lightheartedness,  and  clatter  of 
tongue,  and  boisterousness  as  one  sees  at  an  intercollegiate 
football  match,  for  Indians  among  themselves  are  not  the 
taciturn  folk  that  the  white  man  sees  them  to  be. 

Elsewhere  the  more  serious  business  of  preparing  for 
the  warpath  went  on.  Chiefs  and  braves  went  to  and  fro 
from  the  council  house.  Warriors  practiced  at  throwing 


246  THE   LATIMEKS. 

the  tomahawk  and  shooting  the  rifle.  As  evening  came  on 
fires  were  kindled  and  dusky  forms  circled  around  them  in 
the  wild  war  dance,  their  whirling  figures  sharply  outlined 
against  the  blaze,  which  showed  lurid  and  weird  in  the 
blackness  of  the  surrounding  night. 

Thus  a  day  passed  in  observation.  Then  the  supply  of 
water  which  the  scouts  had  brought  was  exhausted.  None 
could  be  had  short  of  the  river  beyond  the  base  of  the  hill, 
and  it  was  needful  that  one  should  carry  the  canteens 
thither  and  refill  them.  McClellan  went  forth  upon  the 
duty  and  John  came  down  to  the  edge  of  the  prairie  grass, 
and  laid  in  waiting  near  by  a  bold  spur  of  the  cliff  where  it 
draws  nearest  to  the  stream.  The  canteens  were  safely 
filled,  and  McClellan  about  to  return  when  he  heard  light 
foot-falls  upon  the  prairie  path,  and  turned  about.  There 
stood  two  squaws  within  a  few  feet  of  him,  who  had  come 
also  to  the  spring,  or  perhaps  to  the  river  to  bathe!  The 
peril  of  the  situation  flashed  upon  him.  He  sprang  forward 
to  smite  the  women  into  silence  ere  they  could  raise  the 
alarm. 

Too  late!  The  elder  of  the  two  raised  an  Indian  yell 
that  rang  over  the  prairie  and  echoed  from  the  cliff. 
Thereat  John  ran  forward  out  of  hiding.  McClellan,  filled 
with  the  rage  and  despair  of  self-preservation,  leaped  upon 
both  the  squaws  at  once,  and  seizing  them  by  the  throat, 
one  by  each  hand,  dragged  them  down  the  bank  into  the 
river. 

The  elder,  who  had  uttered  the  alarm  cry,  was  thrust 
under  the  water,  and  having  received  the  brunt  of  the 
shock  of  the  scout's  fierce  leap,  made  little  struggle.  Her 
face  lay  beneath  the  surface,  whence  came  forth  gurgling 
sounds  as  of  a  drowning  woman.  Not  so  with  the  younger 
of  the  two.  She  was  a  fair  athlete,  and  coped  with  the 
scout,  handicapped  as  he  was,  on  not  unequal  terms. 
Clasping  his  arms,  though  silent  the  while,  she  writhed 
and  tugged  and  kept  her  face  above  the  water. 

Now  John  plunged  into  the  stream,  raising  the  spray 
before  him  in  a  mighty  plash,  and  seized  the  maiden,  whom 
McClellan  released  to  him,  giving  full  attention  to  the 
elder.  John  slipped  one  palm  across  the  girl's  mouth,  and 
not  finding  it  in  his  heart  to  kill  a  woman,  even  an  Indian, 
and  for  self -protection,  cried  into  her  ear:  "Be  silent,  and 
I  will  save  you!  If  you  cry,  I  must  kill  you." 


THE   LATIMEKS.  247 

The  squaw  ceased  her  struggles  at  these  words,  and 
darted  into  John's  face  a  grateful  look.  From  blue  eyes, 
as  I  live!  thought  John,  and  the  sight  touched  some  chord 
of  association,  and  strangely  thrilled  him  as  though  with 
a  vision  of  a  well-known  face.  Where,  in  his  going  to  and 
fro  among  Indians,  had  he  seen  this  squaw?  Surely,  some 
where!  It  may  be  that  these  quick-passing  thoughts  had 
touched  and  relaxed  the  motor  muscles  of  his  hand,  or  that 
the  maid  had  gathered  strength  by  her  momentary  rest. 
She  suddenly  threw  up  her  hands,  and  grasped  his  wrist, 
and  tugged  it  downward  with  such  force  as  to  give  her 
mouth  release  from  his  palm.  Ere  he  could  replace  it,  the 
woman  spoke: 

"Don't  hurt  me!     I  white  girl!     No  squaw  at  all!" 

"Good  Heavens!"  exclaimed  John.  "What  is  this  I 
hear?  Speak  again,  and  quickly." 

"I  white  woman,  American  girl!  Indian  captive,  no 
squaw!  Shawnees  stole  me  when  little  child.  I  no  want 
to  stay  with  Indians.  Take  me  with  you!" 

John  was  not  so  much  surprised  at  this  revelation,  as 
agitated  at  the  thought  of  how  near  they  had  come  to  tak 
ing  the  life  of  a  countrywoman.  Unhappily  the  capture 
of  white  children,  and  their  adoption  into  Indian  tribes, 
was  only  too  familiar  an  occurrence.  Every  successful 
campaign  uncovered  such  cases,  and  it  was  a  usual  stipula 
tion  in  treaties,  that  white  captives  should  be  restored. 
Thus,  border  history  abounds  in  touching  and  romantic 
instances  of  captive  children  given  back  to  their  parents  or 
sent  back,  and  sometimes  most  unwillingly.  Eemembering 
this,  John  at  once  gave  credit  to  the  young  woman's  tale, 
and  releasing  his  grasp,  though  still  holding  one  hand,  led 
her  from  the  river. 

Meanwhile,  the  elder  squaw  had  ceased  to  struggle,  for 
she  was  quite  dead,  and  her  body  released  from  McClellan's 
iron  clutch  slowly  floated  off.  He  had  noticed  what  had 
passed  with  John,  and  as  he  hurried  from  the  stream  End 
got  rifle  and  canteens,  bade  instant  return  to  the  mountain 
ere  the  whole  village  and  camp  should  be  down  upon  them. 
He  shared  his  companion's  perplexity  as  to  what  should  be 
done  with  the  rescued  maiden.  But  she  solved  the  diffi 
culty  by  declaring  that  she  would  share  their  fate,  and  by 
following  them  in  their  retreat  across  the  prairie. 

They  had  not  compassed  half  the  distance  of  the  hills 


248  THE   LATIMEKS. 

ere  signs  of  alarm  were  noted  in  the  Indian  village.  The 
lazy  quietude  that  had  sat  upon  the  town  and  valley  under 
the  hot  sun  changed  into  wild  whirr  and  excitement,  as  rap 
idly  as  does  a  quiescent  ant  hill  when  disturbed  by  a 
passerby.  The  dead  squaw's  cry  had  been  heard,  and  her 
body  had  been  seen  as  it  drifted  by.  Out  of  the  seemingly 
purposeless  confusion  and  hurly-burly  were  presently  seen 
shooting  in  all  directions  groups  of  armed  warriors.  A 
party  of  twenty  or  more  bore  towards  the  mountain. 

Soon  they  struck  the  trail  of  the  fleeing  scouts,  and 
gave  signal  in  a  fierce  whoop  of  mingled  joy  and  rage. 
Then  they  sank  into  silence,  and  set  to  the  work  of  sur 
rounding  their  unseen  foes  with  the  steady  sleuth-hound 
ferocity  and  persistency  of  the  American  aborigines.  Ere 
long  they  had  circled  the  base  of  the  mountain,  except 
upon  the  west  where  the  perpendicular  cliff  looks  down 
upon  the  village  and  plain.  Thus  they  had  shut  up  the 
scouts  as  in  a  death  trap.  Swiftly  they  closed  upon  their 
victims.  They  glided  from  tree  to  tree  and  from  rock  to 
rock,  pushing  their  way  up  the  mountain  until  every  ave 
nue  of  escape  was  cut  off.  There  was  but  one  course  left 
for  the  doomed  whites, — to  sell  their  lives  as  dearly  as 
possible;  and  this  they  resolved  to  do. 

But  there  is  the  young  woman!  What  shall  they  do 
with  her?  It  were  wrong  to  involve  her  in  their  fate.  So 
they  bade  her  go  back,  and  tell  her  Indian  friends  that  she 
had  been  captured  by  the  white  men,  and  held  by  them 
until  in  the  excitement  she  had  escaped. 

No,  she  would  bide  with  them! 

But  that  was  madness,  John  assured  her.  Nothing 
but  death  awaited  them.  There  was  not  the  faintest  hope 
of  escape  for  them.  If  she  stayed  she  too  must  die. 

"Then  I  will  die!"  cried  the  maid  passionately.  "Death 
in  company  with  my  own  people  will  be  sweeter  than  cap 
tivity  with  red  men.  Esawelathohnew  will  not  return  to 
slavery.  She  will  die  here.  She  can  fight  as  well  as  die. 
No,  I  leave  not  this  place.  If  any  of  you  escape,  carry  to 
my  white  kindred  the  news  of  my  death." 

"But  who  are  your  kindred?"   asked  John. 

The  maid  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  a  sad  thoughtfulness 
fell  upon  her  face.  It  was  a  beautiful  face,  despite  the 
swart  complexion  which  sun  and  wind  had  wrought  almost 
to  the  color  of  an  Indian.  Her  hair  of  light  brown  hue, 


THE   LATIMERS.  249 

verging  almost  upon  auburn,  passed  smoothly  over  a  high 
brow,  and  fell  in  a  long  double  braid  well  nigh  to  the  border 
of  her  richly  beaded  deer-skin  tunic.  With  hands  clasped 
behind  her  back  and  gently  beating  the  turf  with  her  moc- 
casined  foot  in  rhythmic  taps,  she  began  her  story  slowly 
and  in  broken  sentences: 

"Far  up  the  Ohio — so  I  have  heard, — my  people  lived. 
The  Shawnees  would  not  tell  me  more.  But  I  remember 
something  of  my  childhood.  I  tried  to  keep  in  my  heart 
everything  about  my  people.  Yes,  I  will  tell  you, — Hist! 
But  not  now.  To  the  trees!  See!"  She  sank  to  the  ground 
and  pointed  down  the  hill  to  a  warrior  who  had  stolen  far 
in  advance  of  his  fellows,  and  was  in  the  act  of  crawling 
from  a  rock  to  the  shelter  of  a  tree  within  gunshot. 

McClelland  sharp  eyes  had  already  marked  the  brave 
savage,  for  he  had  not  for  a  moment  been  diverted  from 
his  vigilant  outlook,  as  the  others  had  been,  by  the  cap 
tive's  tale.  The  crack  of  his  unerring  rifle  answered  like  an 
echo  to  the  maiden's  warning.  The  warrior  dropped  upon 
his  path  and  his  earthly  warfare  there  ended.  Xow  the 
rocks  and  trees  seemed  alive  with  dusky  forms.  Rifle 
answered  rifle  in  quick  succession,  and  the  hearty  "huzza" 
of  the  scouts  to  the  shrill  whoop  of  the  Indians.  But  the 
latter  could  not  cope  with  the  former  in  marksmanship, 
for  they  were  but  indifferent  shooters  and  were  pitted 
against  three  of  the  best  rifles  on  the  frontier.  Their 
losses  were  severe.  Every  shot  of  the  palefaces  told;  and 
they  were  not  long  in  discovering  that  the  far-famed  Long 
Knife,  Robert  McClellan,  was  one  of  their  foemen.  It  was 
no  part  of  Indian  tactics  to  risk  life  uselessly  by  a  charge, 
and  thus  the  conflict  gradually  abated. 

The  scouts  knew  that  the  relief  was  only  temporary, 
but  were  thankful  for  so  much  respite,  and  the  opportunity 
to  refresh  themselves  with  their  simple  fare.  But  where 
is  the  captive  maid?  She  had  been  quite  driven  from  their 
minds  by  the  suddenness  of  the  onset,  and  the  fierce  en 
gagement  of  combat.  Esawelathohnew  (as  she  called  her 
self)  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Had  she  been  killed  in  the 
attack?  Had  she  thought  better  of  her  resolution,  and 
under  cover  of  the  conflict  slipped  away  to  the  village  in 
the  plain?  At  all  events  she  was  gone. 

The  position  of  the  scouts  was  a  strong  one  as  against 
an  attack  from  the  front.  They  held  the  narrow  backbone 


250  THE   LATIMERS. 

of  the  hill,  and  their  enemies  had  to  advance  in  single  file 
and  without  cover  for  a  moment  or  two  as  they  passed  from 
one  shelter  to  another.  This  slight  exposure  was  quite 
enough  to  satisfy  unerring  marksmen.  With  food  and 
water  they  could  have  held  the  position  as  long  as  ammuni 
tion  lasted.  But  there  was  one  danger  which  already  they 
had  noted;  their  position  could  be  flanked.  It  was  domi 
nated  by  a  huge  isolated  rock  on  the  southern  hillside. 

The  dreaded  danger  at  last  befell.  McClellan  saw  a 
swarthy  figure  crouching  along  a  rocky  ledge,  preparing  to 
spring  from  his  covert,  and  so  near  now  that  a  bound  or  two 
would  reach  the  flanking  rock.  With  the  vigilant  watchers 
in  front,  silent  and  unseen,  but  surely  there,  it  would  have 
been  certain  death  to  advance  beyond  cover  to  make  sure 
aim  at  this  daring  brave. 

"If  I  were  only  in  the  ravine!"  muttered  McClellan. 
"If  that  redskin  gits  footin'  on  yander  rock  our  case  is 
hopeless.  But — well,  I  must  try  it." 

He  crept  to  the  utmost  range  of  his  retreat.  Only  a 
slight  portion  of  the  crouching  savage's  body  was  exposed 
to  view.  He  drew  a  careful  bead,  pulled  the  trigger,  and 
the  flint  broke  sparkless  upon  the  pan!  He  hastened  to  fix 
a  new  flint,  keeping  his  eyes  upon  the  spot.  He  saw  the 
savage  gather  his  muscles  for  the  leap,  like  a  panther 
crouching  to  his  prey.  Quick,  quick  with  that  flint,  good 
fingers!  Too  late!  He  is  off  with  a  mighty  spring.  Hah! 
An  appalling  yell  pierced  the  air  and  startled  gruesome 
echoes  in  the  ravine,  into  whose  depths  the  dead  body  of 
the  warrior  fell. 

What  unknown  power  had  intervened  to  save  the 
scouts?  The  warrior's  death  cry  was  answered  from  every 
quarter  by  scores  of  his  comrades  who  had  been  awaiting 
the  issue,  and  for  a  moment  the  mountain  was  vocal  with 
their  hideous  yells.  Then  all  was  still  once  more. 

"Will  they  try  it  again?"  asked  Sheldon. 

"No  doubt,"  said  McClellan.  "They'll  not  be  so  'asily 
balked  of  their  prey.  The  brave  who  reaches  that  rock 
will  be  as  great  a  man  among  'em  as  Giner'l  Wayne  with 
us.  There'll  be  a-plenty  to  make  at  least  wan  more  ventur. 
See!  Thar  goes  wan  now!" 

A'  second  warrior  was  seen  stealthily  advancing  along 
the  ledge.  But  now  the  scouts'  eyes  were  diverted  from 
him  by  the  clamor  of  war-whoops  in  front  of  them,  and  a 


THE   LATIMERS.  251 

fierce  attack  that  engaged  all  their  faculties.  The  assault 
had  been  made  to  guarantee  the  second  venture  from  inter 
ference.  So  intense  was  the  curiosity  of  the  Indians  to 
know  the  result,  that  a  momentary  lull  followed  the  first 
fierce  onset,  in  which  all  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  fato- 
ful  rock.  Even  as  they  looked,  the  gallant  warrior  was  in 
the  act  of  leaping.  He  made  the  spring,  and  in  mid  air, 
while  the  jubilant  shouts  of  his  tribesmen  rang  out  the 
signal  of  his  supposed  success,  his  body  whirled  over  and 
followed  his  brave  comrade  to  the  depths  below. 

What  mysterious  agent  had  wrought  this  second  deliv 
erance?  Disappointed,  perplexed,  awe-stricken,  the  assail 
ants  withdrew.  Even  the  guides  felt  a  strange  feeling 
creeping  over  them,  as  though  some  supernatural  power 
had  come  to  their  aid,  until  they  saw  the  captive  maid 
emerging  from  the  nearby  rocks  with  a  rifle  in  hand,  and  a 
beaming  smile  on  her  face.  The  mystery  was  solved! 

She  had  noted  where  the  savage  fell  who  had  been 
killed  so  far  in  advance  of  his  fellows,  and  with  dexterity 
which  would  have  done  credit  to  a  trained  warrior,  crawled 
to  the  spot  and  got  rifle  and  pouch.  She  knew  well  the 
danger  threatening  from  that  fatal  rock,  for  she  had  often 
wandered  to  this  mountain  top  to  be  alone  and  dream  of 
her  own  kindred  and  home,  and  of  liberty.  Therefore,  she 
stole  away  through  the  din  and  peril  of  the  fight  and  set 
herself  among  the  rocks,  within  good  rifle  range,  as  the 
armed  guardian  of  the  pass.  From  her  secure  position  on 
the  side  of  the  ravine  she  watched  the  opportune  moment, 
and  having  learned  the  use  of  the  rifle  in  her  Indian  home, 
fired  with  fatal  effect. 

John,  speaking  for  his  fellows,  expressed  admiration 
and  gratitude  for  this  deed.  She  had  saved  their  lives  for 
the  present,  whatever  the  outcome  might  be,  and  they 
heartily  praised  her  coolness,  valor,  and  skill. 

The  swart  face  blushed  red  with  pleasure  at  these  words 
from  such  famed  warriors  of  her  own  blood.  Even  to  an 
Indian  brave  they  would  have  been  as  precious  as  life.  To 
a  maiden  trained  among  the  red  men  and  unconsciously 
having  sympathy  with  their  ideas  of  honor  and  fame,  they 
were  unspeakably  sweet. 

"My  brother's  words  are  sweeter  than  the  song  of 
birds,"  she  said.  "Esawelathohnew  is  proud  to  show  the 
white  warriors  that  she  is  worthy  of  her  kin,  and  ready  to 


252  THE   LATIMEKS. 

serve  them  or  die  for  them, — and  see!"  She  turned  toward 
the  ravine,  and  pointing  downward  beneath  the  rock 
whither  the  two  braves  had  fallen,  her  face  darkened  with 
a  frown.  "The  white  maiden's  God  is  just!  The  last 
Indian  who  fell  was  Succohanos,  the  most  bloodthirsty 
and  valiant  of  the  Shawnee  chiefs.  He  led  the  war  party 
that  tore  Esawelathohnew  from  her  home.  Is  it  not  the 
hand  of  God?  Esawelathohnew' s  mind  is  well  nigh  as  dark 
as  an  Indian  girl's.  But  she  feels  the  Great  Spirit  in  her 
heart,  and  seems  to  hear  Him  speak.  He  has  avenged  the 
captive  maid,  and  will  lead  her  and  her  brothers  into  safety. 
Look!  The  sun  is  setting.  When  shadows  of  night  fall, 
Esawelathohnew  will  show  the  way  of  escape/' 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 

A   DISCOVEKY    AND    A    DELIVERANCE. 

The  plan  which  Esawelathohnew  proposed  for  their 
deliverance  seemed  to  the  scouts  rash  in  the  extreme. 
Could  she  really  pilot  them  safely  through  their  foes?  Yet 
there  was  no  better  way,  no  other  way,  indeed,  than  to 
trust  themselves  to  her.  She  had  already  proved  her  cour 
age  and  sagacity,  and  at  all  events  they  could  but  lose 
their  lives  in  the  venture,  and  death  was  inevitable  if  they 
remained  upon  Mount  Pleasant  until  the  morrow.  Thus 
it  was  agreed  to  accept  the  maiden  as  their  guide  and  trust 
to  the  good  fortune  which  had  heretofore  favored  them. 

This  settled,  Esawelathohnew  gathered  together  a  heap 
of  dry  splints  and  struck  thereon  sparks  from  her  gun 
flint  until  she  kindled  a  fire.  A  few  hours  earlier  that 
would  have  been  a  serious  blunder,  but  what  matter 
now?  The  Indians  knew  them  to  be  there.  Let  the  maid 
do  what  she  would!  She  passed  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
summit  ridge,  and  kindled  a  second  fire.  Soon  two  parallel 
columns  of  blue  smoke  were  ascending  from  the  hilltop. 

"That  is  good!"  said  the  maid.  "One  smoke  means 
something,  may  be;  or  nothing,  may  be.  Two  smokes  on 
the  mountain  top  mean  something,  sure!  Shawnees  see 
them  and  say:  'What  that?  The  palefaces  make  signal 
to  their  brothers,  Ah-ha!  some  soldiers  near,  then!  The 


THE    LATIHERS.  253 

scouts  will  wait  for  them.  They  not  thinking  of  escape!' 
You  not  see  that,  hey?  Their  guard  around  the  mountain 
not  be  so  strict,  and  many  braves  go  out,  there  and  there," 
— pointing  to  the  eastward,  and  on  either  side  to  the  south 
and  north.  "No  one  think  to  watch  toward  the  setting  sun, 
for  the  village  is  there.  'No  scout  ever  think  to  pass  that 
way/  they  say.  Ha,  ha!  we  will  see!  What  Shawnee  chiefs 
think  of  self  when  poor  captive  girl  outwit  them?" 

All  this  was  clear  to  the  scouts;  but  that  this  strange 
girl  would  overmatch  the  cunning  and  skill  of  trained 
Shawnee  warriors,  they  were  by  no  means  confident. 
Nevertheless,  they  had  hope.  Whatever  the  chances,  they 
had  too  often  faced  death  to  be  much  disturbed  at  its  near 
prospect,  and  calmly  ate  their  jerk  and  parched  corn,  with 
a  handful  of  wild  berries  to  give  relish  thereto,  and  drank 
their  scant  measure  of  spring  water. 

The  sun  was  going  down  as  their  meal  was  finished;  and 
John  asked  Esawelathohnew  to  take  up  and  make  an  end 
of  the  story  of  her  captivity.  Sheldon  and  McClellan  took 
post  as  sentinels,  for  they  dare  not  relax  their  watchfulness 
with  such  enemies  in  front  of  them,  even  though  they  felt 
sure  no  attack  would  be  made  until  the  night  was  well 
advanced. 

Bidding  the  maiden  be  seated  on  a  rock  near  the  edge 
of  the  cliff,  John  sat  near  her  and  awaited  the  coming 
narrative.  The  shadows  had  fallen  upon  the  valley  be 
neath,  but  the  brief  twilight  of  August  still  lingered,  and 
roseate  hues,  refracted  from  the  glowing  clouds  of  the 
sunset,  lay  upon  the  hills.  Low  hung  bands  of  striate 
clouds  girdled  the  horizon,  tinted  writh  those  rich  and 
changing  colors  that  make  an  American  sunset. 

In  his  recollections  of  that  hour,  John  always  recalled 
the  vision  of  Esawelathohnew,  as  she  stood  upon  the  rocky 
cliff,  looking  over  prairie  and  village  and  distant  forest 
toward  the  sunset  clouds;  her  face  illumined  with  their 
reflected  color;  her  eyes  with  that  far-away  expression 
which  comes  in  moments  of  retrospection.  The  maid  told 
her  story  in  artless  manner,  speaking  in  low  tones  and  with 
musical  voice,  in  broken  English,  and  with  Indian  idiom 
that  need  not  here  be  reproduced. 

"My  home  was  on  the  banks  of  the  upper  Ohio.  So 
much  Succohanos  told  me,  and  would  tell  no  more  except 
that  my  family  all  perished.  Alas!  the  streamlet  is  dried 


254  THE    LATIMEKS. 

up,  and  Esawelathohnew  is  as  a  lone  pool  in  the  empty 
channel.  Yet,  who  knows?  Some  of  my  kin  may  live,  for 
Shawnees  are  false  as  well  as  cruel.  What  do  I  remember? 
An  old  man, — he  must  have  been  my  grandfather, — who 
often  went  with  me  to  the  woods,  and  took  me  in  his 
canoe,  and  carried  me  in  his  arms  along  the  shore.  There 
was  a  great  book  from  which  he  read, — and  showed  pic 
tures  which  pleased  me  much.  Then  he  kneeled  down,  as 
I  have  seen  the  white  missionary  do,  and  spoke  to  the 
Great  Spirit.  But,  he  could  not  have  been  a  missionary? 

"There  were  other  pictures  that  he  showed  me.  Ah,  I 
remember!  We  could  go  into  the  great  river  bed,  for  the 
summer  sun  had  licked  up  the  waters,  and  there  see  pic 
tures  upon  the  rocks.  Not  like  those  in  the  Book,  but  such 
as  Indians  write  on  bark.  That  must  be  why  it  has  stayed 
in  my  memory.  I  would  dig  the  river  mud  from  the  cut 
tings  with  my  little  hands  until  they  showed  plain,  and 
loved  to  see  the  strange  figures  come  forth.  And  my 
mother — it  must  have  been  she, — came  to  the  bank  and 
called  me  home. 

"There  was  a  baby,  too,  a  baby  boy,  and  I  loved  to  tend 
him;  to  rock  him  in  his  cradle.  My  mind  is  all  confused 
here.  I  cannot  explain.  Something  falls  like  the  gray 
mists  of  Indian  summer,  and  shuts  out  the  vision.  There 
was  a  great  flood, — it  must  have  been  the  spring  freshet, — 
and  the  baby  was  out  upon  the  river  in  a  little  boat.  Then 
there  was  a  great  to-do  in  the  cabin  when  they  brought  the 
baby  in.  But  it  was  dead!  Yet,  it  could  not  have  been, 
for  I  still  remember  him,  and  how  I  loved  and  watched 
him,  as  mother  did.  Yes,  I  remember  her  with  a  baby  in 
the  cabin  as  well  as  at  the  river.  It  is  all  lost  to  me  here; — • 
the  mist  quite  falls.  I  cannot  blow  it  away." 

Esawelathohnew  leaned  -her  cheeks  upon  her  palms, 
her  elbows  resting  upon  her  knees,  and  paused  and  gazed 
away,  with  dreamy  look,  into  the  banks  of  lavender  clouds 
fringed  with  pink  and  lake  and  rose  madder,  and  stringing 
patches  of  orange  and  yellow  and  olive  and  green,  and 
through  openings  here  and  there  of  burnished  gold,  into 
the  clear  ether  beyond.  John  would  not  disturb  her 
thoughts.  His  heart  was  aquiver  with  a  hope  that  had 
grown  almost  into  assurance.  His  pulse  beat  hotly,  and 
his  temples  throbbed  with  eagerness  and  joy. 

"There   came  a  time  at  last,"  the  maid   continued, 


THE   LATIMEES.  255 

"when  all  these  bright  memories  were  swallowed  up  in 
black  night.  It  is  little  that  I  remember,  but  I  know  now, 
from  my  life  with  the  Indians,  what  must  have  been.  I 
seem  to  see  the  cabin  burning.  Yes,  I  remember  that !  And 
there  was  an  Indian  in  the  house  helping  us.  Yet,  how 
could  that  be?  It  shows  how  dark  is  the  poor  captive's 
mind;  she  is  in  a  forest  and  no  trail  and  no  guide.  It  is 
all  as  a  dream,  with  all  things  mixed  and  dim.  Then  there 
was  a  great  yell  in  the  dark,  outside.  Oh,  I  know  that  too 
well  now,  though  it  chilled  my  soul  then,  and  I  put  my 
baby  hands  to  my  ears  to  shut  it  out.  Someone  had  me  in 
his  arms.  It  must  have  been  my  father.  Then  there  were 
rifle  shots,  and  screams,  and  black  night  and  men  fighting, 
my  father  among  them  with  his  tomahawk.  I  seem  to 
remember  that  the  baby  was  killed,  and  my  mother  too; 
but — it  may  be  only  the  story  of  Succohanos  that  dwells 
in  my  memory.  Then  I  slept,  and  when  I  awoke  I  was 
with  the  Shawnees.  Ugh!  Why  should  Esawelathohnew 
tell  all  that?  It  makes  her  shudder  with  fear  and  hate." 

John  had  now  arisen,  and  his  emotion  must  have  been 
expressed  in  his  countenance;  for  what  there  showed  ar 
rested  the  maiden's  attention.  She  seemed  alarmed  thereby, 
and  casting  upon  him  a  glance  eager  with  inquiry,  rose 
and  stood  facing  him. 

"Tell  me,"  said  John,  and  his  voice  trembled  as  he 
spoke.  "Do  you  remember  your  white  name?" 

"No.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  I  recalled  love 
words, — 'pet/  and  'lass/  yes, — 'lass!'  though  I  do  not  know 
what  that  means." 

"Was  your  name  Margaret?" 

"Margaret?  Margaret?"  The  maid  shook  her  head 
and  gazed  upon  the  ground,  her  brows  knit  with  the  in 
tensity  of  her  effort  to  urge  from  memory  its  hidden 
secrets.  "The  Shawnees  called  me  Sunny  Hair — Esawelath 
ohnew.  But  my  white  name?  No,  it  could  not  have 
been  Margaret!" 

"Was  it— MEG?"  asked  John  abruptly. 

The  maiden  started  as  if  suddenly  struck.  She  lifted 
her  eyes  from  the  ground  and  turned  them  full  upon 
John's  face  with  eato-er  search,  as  if  reading  there  some 
thing  that  moved  her  soul  to  the  depths.  She  clasped  her 
brow  with  an  open  hand  and  stared  before  her  a  moment; 
then  dropped  her  arms  and  clasped  her  palms  before  her. 


256  THE    LATIMERS. 

"Meg — Meg?"  she  cried.  "Yes,  it  was  MEG!  Oh,  tell 
me  more!  You  know  more;  surely  you  know  more!"  She 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  at  his  feet,  and  with  hands  still 
clasped,  lifted  up  her  face  radiant  with  expectation. 

John  with  tears  upon  his  cheeks  reached  down,  and 
laying  his  hand  upon  the  trembling  maiden,  exclaimed: 
"My  sister!  My  long-lost  sister  Meg!  I  am  that  little 
baby  boy,  your  own  brother!" 

"John — John!  0,  it  comes  to  me  now!"  The  maiden 
cried,  and  leaped  to  her  feet  and  threw  herself  upon  his 
bosom.  "It  is  baby  John,  and  I  am  Meg  Latimer!" 

"It  is  even  so,  my  sister,"  said  John.  "The  good  God 
be  praised!" 

He  put  his  arms  about  her  and  kissed  her,  and  they 
wept  and  rejoiced  together.  The  tints  were  now  nearly 
faded  from  the  sunset  clouds;  but  from  a  narrow  rift  that 
suddenly  opened  therein  a  single  beam  of  roseate  hue  shot 
forth  and  touched  the  rocky  poll  of  Mount  Pleasant.  It 
enveloped  with  a  halo  of  warm  color  the  brother  and  sister 
standing  there  in  embrace,  and  set  the  cliff  and  the  ridge 
beyond  aglow  for  a  moment,  and  then  vanished. 

When  the  first  sweet  rapture  was  over,  John  called 
McClellan  and  Sheldon  and  told  them  all,  and  felt  deeper 
joy  in  the  sympathy  and  rude  congratulations  of  his  friends. 
The  maiden's  spirits,  stirred  with  new  yearnings  after  kin 
dred  and  love,  and  soothed  with  the  sweet  satisfaction  of 
recovered  place  and  family  and  affection,  longed  for  more 
than  could  be  told.  But  that  her  parents  still  lived,  and 
had  mourned  for  her  all  these  years  and  would  welcome 
her  with  a  wealth  of  love  to  a  happy  home,  this  at  least 
the  poor  hungry  heart  greedily  heard.  She  seemed  trans 
formed.  Her  face,  comely  enough  before,  grew  beautiful 
under  the  deft  moulding  of  a  happy  soul.  She  moved  back 
and  forth  through  the  fast  deepening  gloom  with  a 
step  so  light,  and  a  carriage  so  proudly  erect,  that  she 
seemed  the  spirit  of  the  mountain.  It  was  a  veritable 
mountain  of  transfiguration  to  the  captive  maid  now  re 
deemed  from  bondage. 

This  incident  raised  the  spirits  of  the  party.  It  was  a 
good  omen  to  McClellan.  To  John's  better  culture,  it 
seemed  that  He  whom  he  had  been  taught  to  believe  "pre 
serves  and  governs  all  His  creatures,  and  all  their  actions," 
had  given  them  a  token  of  a  kindly  Providence  which, 
would  lead  them  into  deliverance. 


THE   LATIMEKS.  257 

The  night  fell  dark  and  moonless,  and  a  mist  from  the 
river  filled  the  valley  and  hid  the  stars.    Now  Sunny  Hair 
bade  the  scouts  follow  her  as  closely  as  might  be,  and  at 
sound  of  danger  to  sink  to  the  ground.    Noiselessly  they 
stole  away  from  their  fortress,  and  following  their  guide 
began  to  descend  the  mountain  by  a  path  that  held  close 
to  the  edge  of  the  precipice.    Half  way  down  the  descent 
the  maid  paused  and  uttered  a  soft  "whist!"    Leaving  them 
crouching  on  the  path,  she  glided  away  into  the  darkness. 
Five,  ten  minutes  passed.    A  quarter  of  an  hour  had 
gone  by;  and  when  one  is  waiting  in  sore  anxiety  or  dire 
peril  of  body,  the  minutes  are  wretchedly  slow  of  move 
ment,  and  an  hour's  anxiety  is  condensed  within  a  moment. 
The  scouts  did  not  doubt  Meg's  fidelity,  but  they  did  fear 
that  she  had  again  fallen  into  the  hands  of  their  treach 
erous  and  wary  foes.  John  especially  was  troubled,  and  was 
filling  his  thoughts  with  all  manner  of  reproaches  for  allow 
ing  this  unarmed  woman  to  go  into  the  very  jaws  of  death, 
when  a  softly-spoken  "hist"  gave  token  of  her  presence. 
What  had  kept  her?    Where  had  she  been? 
She  had  gone  forth  to  reconnoitre  as  they  approached 
the  picket  lines,  and  found  two  sentinels  directly  in  their 
path.    She  had  stayed  to  remove  them  out  of  the  way. 
But  how  could  she  do  that? 

There  was  a  low  gurgle  of  laughter  upon  her  lips  as  Meg 
whispered  her  explanation.  "The  sentinels  are  young 
braves.  Indian  youths  love  the  maidens  of  their  tribes. 
Their  hearts  are  glad  to  meet  pretty  prls  on  lonely  picket. 
It  make  time  pass  merrily  to  chat  with  them.  Supposing 
no  great  danger,  young  warrior  think  it  all  right  to  meet 
a  sweetheart.  Eselawathohnew  has  many  Indian  lovers, 
though  she  not  very  proud  for  that,  and  she  know  these 
sentinels  well.  One  wait  for  her — there;  another  wait — 
yonder!  Sunny  Hair  go  through — this  way,  with  her 
white  brothers,  and  leave  young  braves  to  wait  until  tired. 
Suppose  they  tell  old  warriors  how  they  fooled?  No,  no! 
They  too  wise  for  that!  Come,  we  must  haste." 

The  scouts  needed  no  urging,  but  hurried  on,  following 
their  guide  with  stealthy  tread  as  she  glided  before  them 
through  the  mist.  They  passed  the  mountain  in  safety. 
They  were  soon  moving  through  the  valley,  literally  walk 
ing  by  faith  and  not  by  sight.  They  had  compassed  about 
half  a  mile  when  a  dog  barked  close  at  hand.  Ah!  How 
17 


258  THE    LATIMERS. 

sounds  are  magnified  in  darkness  and  mist;  above  all  when 
one  is  trying  to  move  silently.  The  snap  of  a  twig  under 
the  foot  sounds  to  the  tense  nerves  like  a  pistol  shot.  The 
brush  of  one's  dress  against  stick  or  stone  or  leaves,  is  like 
a  blow  upon  the  body.  The  baying  of  that  sorry  dog 
seemed  to  John's  excited  nerves  to  roll  and  echo  like 
thunder.  It  was  answered  by  the  quick  clicking  of  the 
scouts'  rifles  as  they  cocked  their  pieces,  a  sound  that 
alarmed  Meg  more  than  the  dog's  barking.  She  stepped 
back  to  them,  and  with  whispered  "hush"  warned  them 
that  they  were  in  the  midst  of  an  Indian  camp,  and  their 
lives  depended  upon  their  silence. 

A  little  further  on  a  wigwam  rose  out  of  the  mist,  and 
an  aged  squaw  showed  her  face  at  an  opening.  Meg  drew 
near  and  answered  her  challenge  in  the  Shawnee  tongue, 
and  with  a  pleasant  word  or  two  to  engage  her  attention, 
passed  on.  Meanwhile  the  scouts  bore  well  away  from  the 
wigwam,  and  covered  by  the  darkness  while  Meg  diverted 
the  squaw's  attention,  stole  softly  by.  It  was  their  last 
serious  alarm.  Their  guide  had  led  them  quite  around  the 
central  village,  through  the  straggling  camps  on  the  mar 
gin.  Now,  without  fear  of  watching  sentinels,  or  loitering 
lovers  or  restless  old  squaws,  or  barking  dogs,  they  pushed 
on  with  steady  and  rapid  pace,  until  they  had  left  village 
and  sentinels  and  mountain  several  miles  behind  them. 

Then  Meg  took  leave  to  pause,  not  for  rest,  she  seemed 
to  need  none,  but  to  consult  what  were  best  to  be  done. 
They  had  left  a  broad  trail  on  the  moist  grass,  for  they 
could  not  hide  it  in  the  night.  As  they  had  come  over 
ground  marked  by  a  multitude  of  footsteps  for  part  of  the 
way,  it  could  less  easily  be  traced.  But  daylight  would 
reveal  their  escape  and  hundreds  of  pursuers  would  be  on 
their  track.  Should  they  cross  the  river  and  trust  to  their 
speed,  and  the  great  lead  which  a  whole  night's  travel 
would  give  them?  She  had  feared  to  guide  them  to  the 
canoes  on  the  river  bank.  If  they  only  had  one,  they  could 
go  swiftly  up  the  Hocking  and  leave  no  trail.  She  was  a 
maiden,  ignorant  of  war,  and  now  she  left  all  to  the  white 
warriors.  She  had  heard  of  the  wisdom  and  valor  of  the 
great  Long  Knife  (meaning  Robert  McClellan)  and  he 
<^ould  tell  them  what  to  do. 

McClellan  accepted  the  situation  and  at  once  addressed 
himself  to  getting  the  exact  bearings.  That  settled,  he 


THE    LATIMERS.  259 

began  to  take  counsel  with  his  comrades  as  to  what  were 
best  to  be  done.  John  reflected  that  they  must  be  within 
a  short  distance  of  the  place  where  he  and  Panther  had 
hidden  their  canoe  when  they  crossed  the  Hocking  on  their 
way  to  Wayne's  army.  It  would  be  rare  good  fortune  if 
the  boat  were  unmolested.  Mayhap  Meg,  who  knew  well 
the  whole  country  thereabout,,  could  help  him  locate  the 
spot  if  he  would  tell  her  their  landmarks.  John  described 
their  halting  place,  and  the  local  features  by  which  they 
had  marked  it,  which  fortunately  Meg  recognized,  and 
believed  that  she  could  pilot  them  to  the  place. 

"Then  let  us  be  off/'  said  McClellan,  "and  waste  no 
time  about  it.  If  we  find  the  canoe,  well  and  good;  if  not, 
we  will  then  decide  what  to  do." 

They  crossed  the  river,  which  there  was  shallow  and 
easily  forded,  and  following  along  the  opposite  bank  found 
John's  landmarks,  two  great  rocks  and  a  lightning-blighted 
tree  close  by  a  short  riffle  in  the  stream.  Going  straight 
way  to  the  cache,  the  canoe  was  found  snug  and  safe. 
With  great  joy  and  hearts  thankful  to  God,  they  launched 
the  frail  birch  vessel,  and  paddled  up  the  Hocking  until 
McClellan  bade  a  halt. 

"We  are  safe  now,"  he  said,  "thanks  to  our  gallant  Meg, 
and  may  rest  until  morning.  Then,  ho,  and  away!  The 
whole  Shawnee  tribe  couldn't  catch  us." 

John  sought  a  bushy  retreat,  and  gathering  leaves 
made  a  soft  bivouac  bed  for  Meg,  and  giving  her  his 
blanket,  which  she  would  have  refused  to  take  had  he  not 
compelled  acceptance,  left  her  to  sleep.  These  attentions 
from  a  man  were  new  and  sweet  to  Meg;  and  although  she 
had  small  need  of  them,  and  her  Indian  training  rather 
inclined  her  to  render  service  to  John  than  receive  courte 
sies  from  him,  yet  she  gratefully  accepted  them.  There 
came  a  pleasant  glow  about  her  heart,  and  a  new  sense  of 
dignity,  and  of  the  difference  between  the  white  man's 
treatment  of  woman  and  the  red  man's,  which  soothed  her 
to  sleep  and  gave  her  the  lightest  heart  and  the  brightest 
dreams  that  had  visited  her  pillow  for  many  a  year. 

It  was  a  light  and  easily-made  breakfast  the  party 
had,  but  a  merrier  one  was  never  served  before,  nor  since 
has  been,  in  the  Valley  of  the  Hock-hocking.  Then  away 
once  more,  as  fast  as  paddles  could  urge,  until  the  sun  was 
an  hour  high.  Thence,  leaving  their  boat,  they  pushed 


260  THE   LATIMEBS. 

through  the  forest  until  the  scouts  knew  that  they  had 
put  so  great  distance  between  them  and  their  pursuers 
that  they  might  relax  their  speed.  Moreover,  it  was  high 
time  to  rest;  for  even  though  muscles  be  like  whipcord 
and  nerves  like  brass,  Nature  calls  for  repose.  McClellan 
set  forth  in  advance  of  the  others  to  seek  the  desired 
halting  place,  for  they  were  still  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile 
country.  Ere  long  the  scout  came  crouching  back,  trailing 
his  piece  and  holding  his  hand  aloft  in  token  of  caution. 
He  had  seen  what  appeared  to  be  Indian  "signs,"  the  trail 
of  a  horse  and  two  or  three  men,  so  fresh  that  the  parties 
could  not  be  far  away.  Now  all  were  on  the  alert,  and  com 
ing  upon  the  trail,  Latimer  and  Sheldon  branched  out  on 
either  side  to  scour  the  woods  on  parallel  lines,  while 
McClellan  with  Meg  followed  the  well-marked  footprints. 

"Hist,  there  they  are!"  whispered  Meg,  gliding  to  the 
scout's  side  and  pointing  through  an  opening  among"  the 
trees,  down  the  sloping  ridge  on  which  they  stood.  Her 
keen  eyes  had  noted  a  horse  picketed  in  the  chaparral  on 
the  brink  of  a  run  that  girdled  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

McClellan,  who  had  wormed  himself  through  the  grass 
to  a  point  where  the  strangers  were  in  view  and  was  quietly 
making  observation,  felt  a  light  touch  on  his  arm.  Meg 
was  at  his  side.  She  pointed  to  a  form  seated  by  the 
stream,  with  back  towards  them,  and  whispered,  "See! 
that  a  squaw.  Indians  no  take  squaws  on  the  warpath.  It's 
a  hunting  party,  hey?" 

Tho  answer  filled  her  with  amazement  and  for  a 
moment,  it  must  be  confessed,  with  doubt  as  to  whether  the 
Long  Knife  hunter  had  not  lost  his  senses.  He  jumped 
to  his  feet,  and  dropped  his  rifle  stock  to  the  ground. 

"Well,  I'll  be  dawgoned!"  he  exclaimed;  and  seemingly 
regardless  of  all  precaution,  gave  vent  to  a  low,  hearty 
laugh.  "Come,  lass,  it's  all  right.  Yon's  no  squaw,  it's — 
well'  dang  it  all!  she  is  and  she  isn't.  That's  Mad  Ann 
Trotter  and  her  black  hoss  Liverpool.  Ha,  ha!  and  to  think 
I've  been  a-trailin'  her  for  Injuns!" 

This  was  unintelligible  to  the  maid,  but  she  at  least  con 
jectured  that  friends,  not  enemies  were  near.  McClellan 
now  issued  boldly  from  hiding,  and  standing  in  the  open 
uttered  a  loud  "hello!"  Thereat  Mad  Ann  with  the  instinc 
tive  caution  of  the  woodsman,  seized  the  rifle  which  had 
been  upon  her  lap,  turned  and  dropped  to  her  knees  and 


THE    LATIMERS.  261 

drew  a  bead  upon  the  hunter.  But  her  act  was  rather 
defensive  than  aggressive,  for  she  knew  that  the  hail  was 
friendly,  as  a  hostile  would  have  made  no  audible  signal. 
She  therefore  withheld  her  shot,  but  kept  the  scout  covered 
by  her  piece  until  he  made  himself  known. 

McClellan  and  Meg  now  advanced,  and  John  and  Shel 
don,  who  had  heard  the  cry,  came  running  in,  and  merry 
greetings  followed.  The  scouts  knew  Mrs.  Trotter  too  well 
to  need  explanation  of  her  sudden  appearance  within  the 
lonely  forest  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  country.  The  pros 
pect  of  an  Indian  scrimmage  was  sure  to  attract  her,  as 
magnet  the  iron.  She  was  at  once  interested  in  Meg  for 
John's  sake,  and  soon  for  her  own.  Meg,  whose  Indian 
life  and  training  hindered  her  from  remarking  anything 
odd,  unwomanly  or  particularly  strange  in  Mad  Ann's 
In-hnvior,  was  strongly  attracted  to  her  new  acquaintance. 
Was  she  not  a  white  woman?  the  first  of  her  own  race  met 
since  her  deliverance?  So  her  heart  warmed  to  her. 

There  is  a  species  of  fellowship  which  women  have  for 
those  of  their  own  sex,  into  which  man  cannot  enter.  It 
is  with  woman  to  womaa  as  with  child  to  child.  No  matter 
how  loving  and  friendly  and  engaging  adults  may  be, a  child 
craves  child  fellowship,  and  will  turn  to  it  even  from  father 
and  mother,  and  only  thus  have  the  actual  yearnings  of  the 
heart  satisfied.  So,  be  their  male  friends  as  loving  and  con 
genial  as  they  may,  women  find  in  the  society  of  their  own 
sex  somewhat  of  satisfaction  and  fullness,  and  answer  of 
spirit  to  spirit,  and  sympathy  to  sympathy,  that  they  never 
get  from  male  friends.  Thus  it  easily  befell  that  these  two 
children  of  the  forest  were  drawn  strongly  towards  one 
another,  and  as  the  upshot  of  this  meeting  became  at  last 
the  best  of  friends,  despite  the  striking  difference  in  age 
and  disposition,  and  perhaps  also  because  of  that.  John 
was  happy  to  see  this,  and  deemed  it  great  good  fortune 
that  Meg  had  fallen  upon  one  of  her  own  sex  with  whom 
she  might  forgather,  and  have  the  comfort  and  protection 
which  such  society  brings. 

Greetings  over,  McClellan  wished  to  know  who  and 
where  were  her  companions,  for  surely  he  had  seen  the 
trail  of  two  or  three  besides  the  horse. 

Ay,  it  was  even  so.  There  were  two  of  them;  and  if 
he  chose  to  take  up  the  trail  again,  he  would  find  it  some 
two  hours  old,  leading  off  to  the  northwest  and  made  by 


262  THE   LATIMEES. 

Jack  McDonald  and  Alex.  Bailey,  who  went  off  to  Wayne's 
army,  with  good  prospects  of  a  battle  before  many  days. 
As  for  her,  she  preferred  to  travel  alone,  and  when  she 
had  Liverpool  there — nodding  towards  her  black  horse — she 
had  no  fear.  As  to  society,  wasn't  the  woods  full  of  it? 
Ay,  forsooth!  A  little  too  much  just  now,  with  the  sav 
ages  marshalling  from  all  quarters. 

"Besides,  men  are  a  great  responsibility,  you  know, 
Robert,"  she  continued,  casting  a  sly  glance  upon  McClel- 
lan.  "They  're  a  h'awful  charge,  an'  foriver  a-gittin'  into 
scrapes,  out  of  w'ich  h'us  poor  women  'as  to  'elp  'em. 
Now  there's  no  tellin',  since  I've  come  acrost  you,  but  I'll 
'ave  to  save  yourself  out  of  the  'ands  of  the  h'lndiaois,  h'as 
I  did  once  on  the  Tuscarawas.  Hey,  Robin?  You  mind 
that,  I  warrant?" 

Ay,  that  he  did,  and  was  not  like  to  forget  while  her 
tongue  could  wag.  Heaven  help  him,  he  didn't  know  but 
he'd  better  have  let  the  savages  lift  his  scalp  than  to  have 
Mad  Ann  save  it,  and  be  forever  nagged  thereabout.  But 
what  brought  Alex.  Bailey  into  the  woods?  He  had  told 
him  (McClellan)  that  he  was  not  going  out  this  campaign, 
and  meant  to  stick  to  his  plantation  near  Wheeling. 

"Did  'e  tell  you  that,  h'indeed?"  said  Ann,  with  a  quiz 
zical  cast  of  her  eye  towards  the  scout.  "Well,  I  suppose 
a  man  may  sometimes  take  a  woman's  privilege,  and  change 
'is  mind, — if  'e  'as  any."  Ann  clasped  her  hands  over  her 
knees,  for  she  sat  upon  a  mossy  log,  and  looked  into  the 
brook  meditatively,  while  a  broad  smile  lit  up  her  face. 
Something  in  the  subject  just  broached  greatly  amused 
fter.  She  began  laughing,  at  first  quietly,  then  heartily, 
until  her  frame  shook  with  jollity. 

"What  does  Alex.  Bailey  want  in  the  woods?  Ha,  ha! 
That's  a  good  'un,  sartin.  Well,  Robert,  between  you  an' 
me  an'  the  bedpost,  'e  's  got  a  special  arrant.  0  my  fathers, 
jest  think  on't.  Aleck  wants  to  git  married!" 

"Married!"  exclaimed  McClellan.  "Well,  what  if  he 
does?  Manny  another  blame  fool  has  done  that.  But 
what's  that  got  to  do  with  his  comin'  intil  the  woods?  He 
isn't  a-goin'  to  marry  a  catamount  is  he?  or  a  squaw?" 

"That's  jest  h'it,  Robin.  Jest  the  h'idee."  Mrs.  Trotter 
gave  vent  to  a  fresh  burst  of  glee.  "I  sent  'im  a  leetle 
furder  into  the  wroods,  and  bade  'im  look  sharp,  for  there 
?ud  be  plenty  of  squaws  'ithout  'usbands  after  the  battle 


THE   LATIMEES.  263 

with  Wayne,  who  'd  be  glad  of  h'any  kind  of  a  rifle  to  bring 
game  to  their  wigwams.  Ha,  ha!  Aleck  Bailey  'untin'  a 
pardner!  An'  of  all  the  world  a-wantin'  to  marry — " 

"Marry  who?"  exclaimed  McClellan,  noting  how  the 
woman  paused  at  the  last  word. 

"Ay,  ay,  Kobby,  that's  the  question!"  answered  Ann. 
"Now  wouldn't  you  like  for  to  know?  Wall,  wall,  did  you 
ever  'ear  of  sech  doin's?"  Thus  saying,  Mrs.  Trotter  rose 
and  walked  down  to  the  run  for  a  drink,  uttering  laughter 
and  gleeful  ejaculations  as  she  went. 

"So  help  me  Davy!"  exclaimed  McClellan,  a  surprising 
thought  striking  him.  "I  jist  begin  to  take  scent!  By 
crackies,  Jack,  I  b'lieve  Mad  Ann  thinks  Aleck  Bailey 
wants  to  marry  her!" 

John  was  struck  with  the  novelty  and  seeming  ab 
surdity  of  this  opinion,  and  joined  McClellan  in  laughter. 
"Yet,  after  all,  why  should  this  amuse  us?  Bailey  might 
go  further  and  fare  worse.  Mad  Ann  is  a  good  and  true- 
hearted  woman,  and  no  doubt  would  be  as  thorough  at 
housekeeping  as  she  is  at  hunting,  if  she  were  once  settled 
down  to  home  life." 

"If?"  echoed  McClellan.  "Ay,  if  she'd  settle  down. 
But,  land  o'  liberty!  she'll  niver  settle  ontil  she's  in  her 
coffin,  that's  sartain.  I'd  as  soon  axpec'  *a  Shawnee  to  turn 
Quaker.  Marry  Mad  Ann!  Wall,  women  're  scarcer  nor 
duck  teeth  on  the  border,  an'  Aleck's  no  puling  milksop, 
I  know;  but  he's  a  grittier  chap  nor  I  took  him  to  be  ef  he 
choices  to  tackle  that  job.  But  ivery  one  to  his  taste,  as 
the  ole  woman  said  when  she  kissed  the  cow.  Now  for  my 
part,  much  as  I  think  of  Ann  Trotter,  I'd  as  lief  think  8' 
makin'  a  pet  kitten  out'en  a  panther  as  of  puttin'  fambly 
harness  on  sich  a  critter.  But  John,  lad,  we  best  say  nothin' 
more  about  the  matter  to  Mad  Ann.  She's  mighty  techy 
and  nighty,  you  know;  an'  though  she  seems  tickled  enough 
jist  now  over  the  idee,  thar's  no  tellin'  how  soon  she'll 
double  on  her  trail.  Mad  Ann  Bailey!  How'd  that  sound, 
Jack?  Ha,  ha!  Well,  Trotter  or  Bailey,  whether  the  one 
or  t'other,  the  gray  mare  '11  always  be  the  better  hoss." 


264  THE   LATIMERS. 

CHAPTEE  XXVIII. 

A  REVOLUTIONARY  CONSPIRACY. 

On  Monday,  July  21st,  the  day  of  Major  McFarlane's 
funeral,  a  council  assembled  in  the  Mingo  Meeting  House. 
It  met  to  consider  the  Bower  Hill  incident  and  the  result 
ing  situation.  The  passions  of  the  people  were  highly 
inflamed,  yet  there  was  grave  apprehension  of  the  conse 
quences  to  those  who  had  participated  in  the  riot,  most  of 
whom  were  present.  With  them  were  the  leaders  of  the 
insurrection,  resolved  to  cover  themselves  and  associates 
with  the  mantle  of  popular  approval. 

There  were  also  present  some  who  had  taken  no  part 
in  and  who  disapproved  the  Bower  Hill  riot,  and  would 
gladly  have  found  a  way  to  remedy  or  escape  from  its  con 
sequences.  Among  these  were  two  men  of  high  standing, 
known  friends  of  order  and  good  government,  Col.  Edward 
Cook  and  Mr.  Craig  Ritchie.  Fortunately,  through  the 
impulse  of  habit,  these  two  were  chosen  officers  of  the 
meeting,  the  former  President,  the  latter  Secretary.  Be 
sides  all  these,  was  a  small  delegation  from  Pittsburg, 
that  included  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  in  the  West 
ern  counties,  one  who  played  an  important  part  in  the  agi 
tations  of  the  period.  Mr.  Hugh  H.  Brackenridge  was  the 
leader  of  the  bar  in  all  the  section  west  of  the  Alleghenies. 
He  had  zealously  supported  the  Federal  Constitution 
against  such  well-known  popular  leaders  as  Gallatin,  Find- 
ley  and  Smiley.  He  was  a  public-spirited  citizen,  active  in 
affairs,  and  his  decided  views  and  temperament  and  some 
what  eccentric  manners  arrayed  against  him  some  of  the 
leading  men  of  the  section.  He  was  a  learned  and  thought 
ful  man,  of  philosophic  bent  of  mind.  Yet  he  was  witty, 
and  in  a  high  degree  possessed  of  the  faculty  of  ready 
humor  and  a  great  fund  of  anecdote,  traits  which  are 
especially  developed  among  American  public  men,  and  of 
which  Abraham  Lincoln  was  an  eminent  example.  His 
"Modern  Chivalry"  was  a  celebrated  work  in  its  time,  and 
a  pioneer  of  American  fiction  and  humor. 

He  was  now  in  the  height  of  his  reputation  and  the 
zenith  of  his  intellectual  power.  He  knew  better  than  any 


THE   LATIMERS.  265 

public  man  in  the  section  the  peculiar  temperament  of  the 
Scotch-Irish  majority,  and  by  sympathy,  knowledge  and 
skill  was  qualified  to  lead  them.  But  he  was  loyal  to  the 
Union,  friendly  to  Washington,  opposed  with  heart  and 
conscience  to  the  plans  of  the  revolutionists.  Yet,  as  a 
well-known  friend  of  the  people,  he  felt  the  force  of  their 
objections  to  the  excise  laws,  and  appreciated  the  sterling 
worth  and  sincerity  of  the  bulk  of  the  malcontents.  He 
wished  to  stay  them  from  further  outbreaks,  and  save 
them  from  the  consequences  of  the  serious  and  criminal 
acts  which  had  been  wrought.  He  knew  that  by  opposing 
and  denouncing  them  he  would  only  harden  the  peoplo 
in  their  course,  and  lose  all  standing  and  influence  with 
them.  He  therefore  resolved  to  accomplish  by  secret  and 
adroit  manoeuvres  what  could  not  be  done  by  open  opposi 
tion.  He  would  flank  the  movements  of  the  leaders.  He 
would  lighten  up  the  sullen  mood  of  the  people  by  anecdote 
and  humor;  dally  with  proposals  for  serious  opposition  to 
the  Government,  and  postpone  action  until  reflection 
should  bring  about  a  reaction  of  sobriety  and  submission. 

The  proceedings  were  opened  by  Benjamin  Parkinson, 
President  of  the  Mingo  Creek  Democratic  Association,  who 
explained  the  situation  and  offered  a  resolution  endorsing 
the  action  of  the  "patriots"  at  Bower  Hill.  Col.  Marshall 
followed  with  a  less  exacting  address,  and  then  came  the 
chief  plotter  and  head  of  the  conspiracy,  David  Bradford. 
He  at  once  launched  upon  the  audience  an  inflammatory 
harangue  in  support  of  Parkinson's  motion.  The  revolu 
tion  had  begun;  it  must  not  go  backward!  The  patriots  of 
Bower  Hill  would  live  in  history  along  with  the  heroes  of 
Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill,  with  the  Covenanters  of  Scot 
land,  the  Puritans  of  England,  and  with  the  heroes  of 
liberty  everywhere.  A  second  war  of  Independence  had 
commenced.  Let  there  be  a  second  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence  that  day,  and  Mingo  Creek  Church  would  be  as 
sacred  a  building  to  posterity  as  the  State  House  in  Phila 
delphia. 

The  Western  Survey  was  unknown,  and  the  vast  re 
sources  of  its  hills  and  plains,  its  rivers  and  forests  under 
valued  by  the  East.  They  were  held  to  be  a  people  of  rude 
manners  and  of  littla  consequence.  Their  interests  were 
neglected,  their  rights  trampled  upon.  Here  was  their  op 
portunity  to  show  themselves  men. 


266  THE   LATIMEES. 

Theirs  was  the  cause  of  the  People,  the  Common 
People.  Who  were  arrayed  against  them?  A  little  band  of 
aristocrats  who  had  entrenched  themselves  within  the 
Government  offices,  and  were  growing  rich  and  great  upon 
the  hard  and  scanty  earnings  of  the  sons  of  the  soil.  This 
was  no  land  for  aristocrats.  There  were  too  many  of  them 
in  Philadelphia  and  the  East.  Let  them  have  no  foothold 
in  the  great  West!  They  wanted  no  sham  excise  nobility, 
no  Government  favorites,  nor  Order  of  the  Cincinnati  with 
its  aping  of  European  jewels  and  ribbons  and  primogeni 
ture,  and  its  thin  veneer  of  a  titled  military  class. 

"This  then  is  the  issue,"  he  cried.  "Let  it  not  be 
avoided.  Shall  we  disapprove  the  conduct  of  those  engaged 
against  Neville  the  excise  officer,  or  approve?  In  other 
words  shall  we  suffer  them  to  fall  a  sacrifice  to  Federal  per 
secution,  or  shall  we  support  them?  On  the  result  of  this 
business  we  have  fully  deliberated.  Why  pause  longer? 
Let  us  determine  with  head,  heart,  hand  and  voice  that  we 
will  support  the  opposition  to  the  excise  law.  A  crisis  has 
now  come.  It  is  this — Submission  or  Opposition!  Let  us 
determine  to  act  in  the  future  agreeably  to  system;  to  form 
arrangements  guided  by  reason,  fortitude  and  spirited  con 
duct.  We  must  not  be  divided.  The  Western  Survey  must 
show  an  unbroken  front  to  its  enemies.  By  all  the  ties  that 
the  union  of  interests  can  suggest,  we  are  urged  to  be  stead 
fast,  united,  undismayed  and  to  go  forward!" 

Bradford's  well-known  fondness  for  declamation  had 
here  abundant  exercise,  for  his  speech  was  perfervid  even 
to  violence.  His  greed  for  popularity,  and  his  craving  for 
the  exhilarating  flattery  of  public  approval  of  one's  speech, 
had  carried  him  beyond  even  his  own  platform.  But  what 
now?  Would  the  assembly  act?  The  people  sat  motion 
less  on  the  church  forms,  and  a  prolonged  silence  ensued. 

The  Mingo  settlement  represented  one  of  the  most 
populous  constituencies  west  of  the  mountains.  It  could 
have  sent  forth  a  regiment  of  six  or  seven  hundred  men, 
skilled  riflemen,  inured  to  hardship  and  seasoned  thereby, 
many  of  them  veteran  soldiers  of  the  Eevolutionary  War. 
Had  they  declared  for  active  opposition,  their  example 
would  have  been  contagious.  The  organized  rebellion 
would  have  spread  throughout  the  entire  western  moun 
tains  of  Pennsylvania,  Virginia  and  Maryland,  and  thence 
into  Kentucky,  and  to  all  the  settlements  along  the  Ohio 


THE   LATIMERS.  267 

River,  whose  inhabitants  were  in  full  sympathy  with  the 
opposition  to  excise  laws. 

The  silence  that  overhung  the  meeting  was  almost 
oppressive.  At  last  Mr.  Brackenridge  arose  and  addressed 
the  Chair.  All  eyes  turned  upon  him  as  he  slowly  ad 
vanced  along  the  middle  aisle  toward  the  desk.  He  began 
in  a  deliberate  manner,  even  hesitated  in  his  speech  as 
though  struggling  in  spirit  with  a  sense  of  responsibility 
upon  him.  He  had  need  of  all  his  address  and  forensic 
ability  and  skill  as  an  advocate  and  pleader,  and  of  his 
experience  of  men,  and  he  well  understood  the  situation. 

His  main  effort  was  directed  toward  postponing  action, 
chiefly  on  the  ground  that  the  passing  of  Parkinson's  reso 
lution  would  incriminate  the  entire  community,  and  leave 
no  "mediators"  to  plead  the  cause  of  the  actual  offenders. 
He  thus  adroitly  divided  the  meeting  into  two  classes,  and 
that  not  on  the  ground  of  mutual  hostility,  but  of  common 
interest  and  helpfulness.  He  concluded  by  an  appeal  to 
the  largest  exercise  of  the  principle  of  pure  democracy, 
in  calling  a  representative  congress  of  all  the  counties  of 
the  Survey  to  take  final  action.  He  further  advised  the 
selection  of  a  delegation  to  visit  President  Washington  to 
explain  the  late  outbreak.  Whatever  moral  justification 
might  be  urged  for  that  act,  legally  it  was  treason!  Dis 
cuss  it  as  they  might,  the  Administration  would  declare 
that  they  had  traitorously  fired  upon  and  fought  with 
United  States  troops.  Yet,  the  Bower  Hill  affair  was  not 
a  premeditated  one,  so  far  as  its  worst  features  were  con 
cerned.  The  burning  of  Neville's  property  was  an  acci 
dent.  It  was  not  the  intention  of  the  leaders,  and  certainly 
was  never  contemplated  by  the  majority  of  those  present 
to  do  deeds  of  violence.  This  would  undoubtedly  be  con 
sidered  by  President  Washington  and  the  actual  intention 
of  the  public  be  favorably  regarded  by  the  President.  Mr. 
Brackenridge  closed  by  declaring  that  should  it  be  so 
desired  he  would  willingly  undertake  this  commission  of 
mediation  himself  as  one  of  the  delegates,  however  incon 
venient  and  disagreeable  it  might  be  to  undertake  the 
journey  at  that  time. 

If  oratory  is  to  be  judged  by  its  effects,  this  impromptu 
address  must  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  effective 
speeches  ever  made  to  an  American  audience.  The  entire 
current  of  feeling  and  purpose  was  turned.  A  deep  silence 


268  THE   LATIMERS. 

ensued  as  the  speaker  took  his  seat.  No  one  rose  to  re 
spond.  No  one  seemed  desirous  of  pushing  the  motion 
which  Parkinson  had  made.  Almost  spontaneously  the 
assembly  broke  up,  and  slowly  retired  from  the  sanctuary. 
Some  went  to  the  spring  nearby  to  drink;  others  separated 
into  knots  and  engaged  in  grave  consultation.  After  a 
brief  recess,  the  people  reassembled  in  the  meeting  house. 
But  nothing  further  was  done  than  to  act  on  Bracken- 
ridge's  suggestion  to  call  a  Congress  coextensive  with  the 
Survey.  A  resolution  to  that  effect  was  passed,  and  the 
Secretary  was  ordered  to  publish  it  in  the  Pittsburg  Ga 
zette.  Thus  an  assembly  surcharged  with  anger  and  belig- 
erent  intent  quietly  dissolved,  as  a  thunder  cloud  pregnant 
with  electricity  is  sometimes  harmlessly  dissipated  by  the 
mountain  peaks  upon  which  it  falls. 

David  Bradford  left  the  meeting  with  an  ill-contented 
mind.  He  had  been  foiled  in  his  attempt  to  commit  the 
Mingo  Creek  people  to  open  revolution,  but  the  matter  was 
only  postponed.  He  could  wait.  Meanwhile,  he  would  see 
that  the  coming  Congress  at  Parkinson's  Ferry  should  do 
better  work.  He  would  try  what  could  be  done  by  the 
method  known  in  modern  political  tactics  as  "packing  the 
Convention/7  and  thus  get  a  decision  favorable  to  his  plans. 
He  accordingly  prepared  and  distributed  a  circular  letter 
to  the  inhabitants  of  the  Survey,  inviting  and  urging  those 
in  sympathy  with  the  anti-excise  party  to  be  present. 

He  would  go  yet  further!  The  country  must  be  even 
more  thoroughly  committed.  The  Mingo  Conference  had 
reached  a  conclusion  that  might  be  interpreted  as  favoring 
submission.  The  Government  at  Philadelphia  must  be 
led  to  see  in  it  only  a  step  toward  more  deliberate  and 
organized  revolution.  No  step  backward! 

On  the  way  to  the  Mingo  meeting,  Bradford  had  pro 
posed  to  some  of  the  conspirators  to  intercept  the  mail  from 
Washington  to  Pittsburg,  and  from  Pittsburg  to  the  East, 
and  abstract  all  letters  addressed  to  the  National  and 
State  Governments.  This  would  detain  information  of  the 
late  movements,  and  give  the  agitators  more  time  to  form 
their  plans  and  secure  their  footing.  Especially  it  would 
enable  them  to  spot  the  spies  and  traitors  in  their  midst. 

This  reckless  enterprise  was  matured  after  the  Mingo 
Creek  meeting.  An  ignorant  fellow  by  the  name  of  John 
Mitchell,  and  a  certain  William  Bradford,  a  cousin  of 


THE   LATIMERS.  269 

David's,  were  appointed  to  intercept  the  mail.  These  men 
accomplished  the  crime  three  days  after  the  Mingo  Confer 
ence.  They  stopped  the  post  about  ten  miles  from  Greens- 
burg  on  its  way  across  the  mountains  to  the  East.  They 
took  out  the  packets  from  Washington  and  Pittsburg,  and 
delivered  them  to  Parkinson,  who,  accompanied  by  David 
Bradford  and  Marshall,  carried  them  to  Canonsburg. 
There,  in  the  village  tavern  where  the  conspirators  were 
wont  to  meet,  the  letters  were  opened  and  read. 

Fortunately,  none  of  the  Washington  folk  were  in  a 
communicative  mood.  But  some  of  the  Pittsburg  resi 
dents  were  less  reticent.  Col.  Neville  had  written  to 
Gen.  Morgan;  Gen.  Gibson  and  Mr.  Prothonotary 
Bison  to  the  Governor  of  Pennsylvania;  Edward  Day  to 
the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  and  Major  Butler  to  the 
Secretary  of  War.  These  communications,  most  of  them 
official,  gave  great  offence.  The  familiar  adage  that  eaves 
droppers  hear  no  good  of  themselves  was  in  this  case  veri 
fied,  and  David  Bradford  read  some  wholesome  observa 
tions  upon  his  schemes  and  conduct.  As  usually  happens, 
his  anger  was  proportionate  to  the  truthfulness  of  the 
criticism,  and  in  high  dudgeon  he  vowed  to  be  avenged 
upon  the  writers.  Moreover,  these  letters  should  serve  to 
inflame  the  popular  passions  and  bring  his  own  plot  to  a 
head. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  he  to  the  committee,  "you  have 
a  fine  view  of  what  sort  of  news  the  United  States  Govern 
ment  is  likely  to  get  from  these  coasts.  We  have  balked 
the  spies  this  time,  and  blocked  their  game  to  bring  both 
State  and  National  powers  down  upon  us.  But  we  can't 
hope  to  intercept  every  communication.  The  tidings  will 
be  sure  to  get  through  the  tightest  cordon  we  can  draw 
around  the  mountains.  We've  got  these  letters  in  hand; 
but  there's  Neville  and  Marshal  Lenox!  It's  good  riddance 
of  bad  rubbish  to  have  them  off  the  Survey.  But  they're 
bound  for  Philadelphia,  and  will  be  there  soon  enough." 

"Well,  what  can  they  do  with  us,"  asked  Col.  Canon, 
"aven  if  Neville  and  Lenox  do  their  warst?" 

"Why,  those  engaged  in  the  attack  on  Neville's  house 
would  be  hung!  At  least,  they  could  be  hung  if  the  Presi 
dent  chose  to  exact  the  utmost  penalty." 

This  was  certainly  a  serious  view  of  the  affair,  the 
conclave  thought,  and  a  new  one,  too,  as  far  as  their 


270  THE    LATIMERS. 

leader  was  concerned.  However,  his  reason  for  this  change 
of  base  soon  appeared.  He  began  to  urge  that  the  only 
way  to  protect  those  directly  implicated  in  the  Bower  Hill 
offending  was  to  involve  the  whole  Western  country  in 
the  affair.  Thus  the  very  numbers  concerned  would  pre 
vent  extreme  measures  on  the  part  of  the  Government, 
by  making  them  impossible. 

"Ay,  that  may  be  well  enough;  but  how  shall  we  get 
the  whole  Survey  involved?"  asked  Parkinson. 

"Let  us  call  out  the  militia  to  muster  at  Braddock's 
Field,"  answered  Bradford.  "There,  with  arms  in  our 
hands  we  can  consider  the  situation." 

That  was  astounding  advice,  indeed,  thought  Col.  Mar 
shall.  How  absurd!  What  authority  had  they  to  call  out 
the  militia,  who  would  jeer  at  them,  and  stay  at  home. 

"Not  at  all!"  averred  Bradford.  "The  public  feeling 
is  highly  excited.  So  many  of  the  militia  have  been  com 
mitted  by  the  attack  upon  and  the  burning  of  Inspector 
Neville's  house,  that  they  will  influence  the  authorities  to 
attend  upon  any  call  which  may  bear  the  signature  of  the 
general  committee.  Moreover,  the  whole  country  is  ripe 
for  such  a  movement,  and  for  the  most  part  there  will  be 
a  willing  response.  This  will  go  far  to  cover  any  lack  of 
formality  in  the  call.  If  the  officers  of  the  regiments  are 
unwilling  to  answer,  their  men  will  be  keen  enough  to  put 
compulsion  upon  them.  Besides,  the  members  of  the 
Democratic  societies  arc  mostly  militiamen,  and  these  will 
be  certain  to  heed  a  summons  signed  by  their  officers. 

"When  such  a  throng  shall  rendezvous  at  a  well-known 
point  like  Braddock's  Field,  Washington's  Government  will 
see  that  the  Western  people  are  in  earnest  in  urging  their 
complaints  and  demanding  redress  of  grievances.  Thus, 
too,  the  whole  Survey  will  be  committed  to  the  act,  and 
stand  before  the  National  Government  as  an  unbroken 
sodality.  Unwilling  citizens  will  have  to  fall  in  and  fol 
low  with  the  majority.  The  secret  opposers  of  the  move 
ment  will  be  compelled  to  be  silent." 

Such  was  Mr.  David  Bradford's  plot,  and  he  had  little 
difficulty  in  bringing  over  all  his  associates  to  his  view. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  a  self-created  committee,  all  of 
whom  were  either  directly  or  indirectly  concerned  in  the 
felony  of  robbing  the  mail  upon  the  public  highway,  sit 
ting  in  a  village  tavern,  without  a  shadow  of  either  civil 


THE   LATIMEKS.  271 

or  military  warrant,  ventured  to  order  out  the  militia  of 
the  Western  counties  as  if  on  a  tour  of  military  service! 
It  would  seem  impossible  that  such  an  impudent  deliver 
ance  should  be  received  with  the  slightest  respect.  Never 
theless,  it  was  accepted  in  good  faith  and  promptly  obeyed 
by  large  numbers  of  ohicers  and  men.  The  following  is 
the  letter  which  was  drawn  up  and  dispatched  by  mes 
sengers  in  all  directions  by  this  self-constituted  revolu 
tionary  junta: 

JULY  28,  1794. 

SIR: — Having  had  suspicions  that  the  Pittsburg  post 
would  carry  with  him  the  sentiments  of  some  of  the  people 
in  the  country,  respecting  our  present  situation;  and  the 
letters  by  the  post  being  now  in  our  possession,  ~by  which 
certain  secrets  are  discovered  hostile  to  our  interests,  it  is, 
therefore,  now  come  to  that  crisis  that  every  citizen  must 
express  his  sentiments,  not  by  his  words,  but  by  his  actions. 
"  You  are  then  called  upon  as  a  citizen  of  the  Western 
country,  to  render  your  personal  service,  with  as  many 
volunteers  as  you  can  raise,  to  rendezvous  at  your  usual 
place  of  meeting,  on  Wednesday  next,  and  thence  you  will 
march  to  the  usual  place  of  rendezvous  at  Braddock's  Field, 
on  the  Monongahela,  on  Friday,  the  first  day  of  August 
next,  to  be  there  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  with  arms 
and  accoutrements,  in  good  order.  If  any  volunteers  shall 
want  arms  and  ammunition,  bring  them  forward,  and  they 
shall  be  supplied  as  well  as  possible.  Here,  sir,  is  an  expe 
dition  proposed,  in  which  you  will  have  an  opportunity  of 
displaying  your  military  talents  and  of  rendering  service 
to  your  country.  Four  days'  provisions  will  be  wanted;  let 
the  men  be  thus  supplied. 

We  are,         (Signed) 
L.  LOCKRY,          D.  BRADFORD, 
T.  SPEARS,  B.  PARKINSON, 

A.  FULTON,          J.  CANON, 

J.  MARSHALL. 
To  Col . 

Far  and  near  the  message  ran,  and  everywhere  wrought 
the  country  into  a  fever  of  excitement.  Some  great  mili 
tary  enterprise  was  afoot.  Some  surprising  secret  was  to 
be  revealed  at  the  coming  muster!  Pittsburg  was 


272  THE  LATIMEES. 

to  be  attacked.  The  magazines  stored  within  the  gar 
rison  were  to  be  seized,  and  the  whole  town  laid  under 
contribution.  The  obnoxious  persons  were  to  be  arrested, 
and  if  their  fellow  citizens  opposed  their  exile,  the  town 
would  be  destroyed  as  was  ancient  Sodom. 

The  most  active  centres  of  excitement  were  in  the 
Mihgo  Creek  settlement,  and  around  the  villages  of  Can- 
onsburg  and  Washington.  Here  the  rural  population  was 
in  large  excess.  With  rare  exceptions  the  planters  and 
farmers  were  men  deeply  injured  by  the  excise  law,  and 
most  determined  in  their  opposition  to  it.  Everywhere 
women  and  children  might  be  seen  engaged  in  running  bul 
lets,  the  round  leaden  balls  in  use  for  the  long  hunting 
rifle  which  was  then  the  well-nigh  universal  shooting  tool. 
Others  were  "necking"  or  clipping  the  necks  from  the  balls 
after  they  have  been  run.  Men  were  engaged  in  burnishing 
swords  and  cleaning  and  oiling  rifles.  Old  muskets  and 
weapons  of  all  sorts  were  brought  forth,  which  black 
smiths  were  busy  day  and  night  repairing.  The  country 
stores  in  the  various  villages,  and  even  in  Pittsburg  were 
thronged  with  purchasers  of  flints,  powder  and  lead. 
The  rude  uniforms  of  the  militiamen  were  being  put 
in  order.  Everywhere  might  be  seen  repeated,  in  the  hum 
ble  cabins  of  the  frontier,  the  ancient  idyl  of  Venus  pre 
paring  the  arms  of  Mars.  Rations  were  being  cooked  and 
packed  in  haversacks. 

On  the  first  day  of  August  the  fevered  condition  of  the 
people  was  drawn  to  a  head.  Every  village  and  hamlet 
and  countryside  was  astir.  The  passions  of  the  people 
were  as  fervid  as  the  heat  of  the  midsummer  day.  Every 
where,  spuads,  companies  and  battalions  of  militia  were 
marching  along  the  roads  and  trails,  all  with  their  columns 
directed  towards  Braddock's  Ford.  These  men  for  the 
most  part  were  uniformed  in  hunting  shirts  dyed  with 
butternut  yellow  or  dark  blue.  Many  had  handkerchiefs 
tied  about  their  heads  after  a  fashion  then  quite  popular 
with  hunters  when  on  excursions  against  the  Indians.  In 
John  Latimer's  absence  his  company  of  young  men  was  in 
charge  of  the  lieutenant,  who  being  a  hot  anti-excise  man, 
called  out  the  members,  and  compelled  them  into  the 
ranks  whether  willing  or  unwilling.  He  even  forced  some 
of  the  students  of  the  Log  Cabin  Academy,  who  were 
opposed  to  the  expedition,  to  join  the  march. 


LATIMERS.  273 

Hottest  among  the  enthusiasts  was  George  McCormack. 
His  store  was  thronged  with  buyers,  but  he  dropped  busi 
ness  and  joined  the  marchers,  leaving  v:ife  and  daughter 
to  look  after  the  trade.  Fanny  was  much  perplexed.  She 
liked  not  such  tumult,  and  dreaded  strife  and  bloodshed. 
Would  John  Latimer  approve  of  these  marchings  and 
muster?  That  he  would  not!  Yet  her  father  was  one  of 
the  chief  promoters,  and  her  eldest  brother  was  off  with 
the  rest.  Who  was  in  the  right?  How  could  a  maiden 
decide  when  the  best  and  wisest  men  disagreed?  At  least, 
she  could  followr  the  bent  of  natural  affection  and  see  that 
her  kin  went  off  to  the  camp  well-fitted  and  provided. 
Thus,  she  was  busy  among  the  other  women  preparing 
not  only  father  and  brother  but  neighbors  for  the  mysteri 
ous  expedition. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  MARCH  TO  BRADDOCK?S  FORD. 

Luke  Latimer  had  announced  his  purpose  to  go  to  the 
muster  at  Braddock's  Field.  His  wounded  arm  was  yet 
unhealed  and  caused  him  great  pain,  and  his  surgeon 
declared  his  intention  highly  imprudent.  His  wife,  with 
plainer  and  more  vigorous  language,  alternately  entreated 
and  scolded.  Fanny  McCormack  put  in  her  remonstrance 
as  the  nurse.  But  Luke  stoutly  held  out  against  the  loving 
coalition.  As  long  as  strength  remained  he  would  be  found 
in  his  place,  and  at  least  show  by  his  presence  his  unity 
with  the  people  in  their  effort  to  cast  off  oppressive  laws. 

Moreover,  though  he  said  naught  of  that  to  his  friends, 
he  had  done  a  deal  of  thinking  during  his  recent  suffering. 
He  saw  now,  what  he  had  not  discerned  before,  the  danger 
that  lay  in  assembling  a  mass  of  men  with  arms  in  their 
hands,  in  the  inflamed  condition  of  the  public  mind.  His 
name  had  not  been  upon  the  call  for  the  muster  at  Brad- 
dock's  Field.  He  had  not  favored  the  movement;  but  all 
the  same  would  he  be  held  responsible  for  it,  as  one  of  the 
general  committee.  He  would  be  present  to  use  what  influ 
ence  he  might  to  prevent  Bradford,  or  any  others,  from 
executing  extreme  measures. 
18  . 


274  THE   LATIMEKS. 

Andy  Burbeck  tried  to  show  Luke  the  imprudence  of 
his  purpose;  but  the  news  which  he  brought  from  Pittsburg 
nullified  his  words  of  kindly  caution.  Thus  his  story  ran: 
For  two  weeks  he  had  been  busy  in  his  place  at  the  ferry, 
carrying  folk  to  and  fro  across  the  Monongahela.  He  had 
noted  the  anxiety  of  the  citizens,  and  being  a  warm  friend 
and  follower  of  Mr.  Brackenridge,  and  having  a  tender 
heart,  he  had  willingly  consorted  with  the  Pittsburg  people 
in  measures  to  save  the  threatened  town.  The  conversation 
of  those  who  passed  to  and  fro  upon  the  boat  showed  him 
the  spirit  of  anarchy  that  was  agog.  Their  denunciation 
of  the  Pittsburg  aristocrats,  as  they  were  pleased  to  call 
them,  was  intense  and  bitter. 

Eumors  came  from  divers  quarters  of  the  fury  that 
raged  in  the  country  against  the  townfolk.  Women  were 
agitated  with  fear,  and  nervous  and  startled  at  every  new 
alarm.  For  them,  poor  hearts!  the  "rumors  of  war"  were 
almost  as  painful  as  war  itself.  Most  people  who  had  valu 
ables  and  important  papers  took  them  out  of  the  village 
bounds  to  be  secreted  in  more  secure  places.  Major  Butler 
was  busy  strengthening  the  defences  of  Fort  Pitt.  It  was 
a  weak  stronghold  at  the  best;  a  picketed  inclosure  some 
what  removed  from  the  main  part  of  the  village,  with  an 
open  common  between  the  two.  The  bastions  and  walls 
were  in  ruins;  the  old  brick  block-house  a  paltry  affair;  the 
barracks  and  officers'  quarters  were  log  huts.  The  garri 
son  at  the  time  consisted  of  forty  soldiers,  a  mere  handful. 

The  leading  citizens,  aware  of  the  hostility  of  the  sur 
rounding  country,  had  already  agreed  upon  measures  to 
placate  the  coming  army.  Open  defense  they  knew  to  be 
useless.  The  entire  militia  of  the  town  numbered  only 
two  hundred  and  fifty  men,  some  of  whom  were  hardly  to 
be  relied  on  in  an  emergency.  A  public  meeting  was  held, 
which  determined  that  a  painful  but  urgent  necessity  re 
quired  that  the  obnoxious  persons,  against  whom  the  popu 
lar  fury  was  especially  directed,  should  go  or  be  sent  into 
temporary  banishment.  Most  of  these  gentlemen  were 
quite  ready  to  leave.  They  understood  that  this  would  be 
the  only  way  to  preserve  themselves  and  save  the  town. 

A  Committee  of  Management  was  appointed,  who 
printed  an  address  in  the  Gazette  office,  and  forwarded 
copies  to  Braddock's  Field.  This  declared  the  sympathy 
of  Pittsburgers  with  the  people  at  large  in  their  wish  t3 


THE   LATIMEKS.  275 

secure  the  repeal  of  obnoxious  and  oppressive  laws.  It  was 
resolved  that  the  Pittsburg  militia  should  march  out  to 
the  common  rendezvous  and  there  join  the  country  troops, 
and  give  public  proof  that  they  were  in  unison  with  the 
common  sentiment  and  united  with  the  fortunes  of  the 
people.  Thus  Andy  told  his  story,  in  his  own  piquant 
way,  with  free  comments  upon  the  same. 

Now  Luke  was  fairly  mounted  on  his  black  gelding 
Marion,  but  had  to  use  the  ladies'  upping  block  to  get  into 
the  saddle.  Andy  rode  his  trained  horse  Rouse,  over  whose 
back  hung  a  well-stuffed  pair  of  saddle-bags,  which  showed 
that  he  had  not  forgotten  the  junta's  hint  to  bring  four 
days'  rations.  He  carried  a  rifle,  but  Luke  must  be  content 
with  a  pair  of  horse  pistols  at  the  saddle  pommel.  The  two 
were  quite  ready  to  be  off,  and  only  waited  to  say  good  bye 
to  Mrs.  Latimer. 

"Polly!"  cried  Luke,  whom  the  strain  of  preparation 
in  his  weakened  condition  had  made  somewhat  irritable. 
"Ho,  Polly!  We  're  waitin'  to  say  good  bye  til  ye!  Pol-lee!" 

There  was  no  response,  and  Luke  muttered  his  im 
patience.  But  impatience  yielded  to  surprise,  and  that 
to  amazement  and  confusion  when  Mrs.  Latimer  issued 
from  the  cabin  door,  holding  in  one  hand  the  gathered 
lengths  of  her  riding  skirt,  and  in  the  other  one  of  John's 
rifles.  At  the  same  time  the  negro  man  Dungy  led  Snow 
ball  to  the  upping  block.  The  pony  was  furnished  for  a 
journey,  for  behind  the  saddle  were  strapped  saddle-bags 
pouched  out  to  rotundity,  and  a  pair  of  blankets. 

"The  Lord  presarve  us!"  exclaimed  Andy,  as  he  saw 
the  good  woman  mount  into  her  place,  and  having  got  feet 
into  stirrups,  take  the  reins  and  rifle  from  the  negro. 

"Amen!"  answered  Mrs.  Polly;  and  her  voice  had  just 
a  quaver  of  mirthfulness  as  she  regarded  the  consternation 
of  her  husband  and  his  friend.  "I'm  all  ready,  an  it  plase 
ye,  an'  we'll  set  off  as  soon  as  ye  like." 

During  these  proceedings  the  pallid  hue  on  Luke's  face, 
wrought  by  pain  and  confinement,  gave  way  to  burning 
crimson,  and  that  again  to  the  pallor  of  anger.  He  spurred 
his  horse  to  his  wife's  side,  and  exclaimed:  "In  the  name 
of  the  foul  fiend,  Polly,  what  does  this  mane?  Have  ye 
gone  clane  daft?  Shorely  ye  don't  intand  goin' — " 

"Whist!"  interrupted  Polly.  "There's  no  call  to  invoke 
the  foul  fiend  in  this  business,  Luke;  though  I  dar  be 


276  THE   LATIMERS. 

sworn  he's  more  to  do  with  it  nor  anny  one  else,  barrin' 
Dave  Bradford.  It  would  be  more  becomin'  to  jine  in 
Andy's  prayer,  an'  ask  the  Lord  to  presarve  us,  for  we'll 
have  nade  enough  of  His  presarvin'  hand  afore  we  git  out'n 
this  scrape,  more's  the  pity!  Ye  were  astin'  did  I  intind 
goin'  with  ye?  Ay,  that's  jist  it,  Luke;  an'  why  not?  If 
the  muster  at  Braddock's  Field  is  a  good  place  for  men, 
it  can't  be  sich  a  bad  place  for  women.  Sure,  what's  sauoe 
for  the  goose  is  sauce  for  the  gander,  an'  visy  varsy,  as  the 
parson  says.  An'  did  ye  think  I'd  let  ye  go  on  sich  a  trip 
wi'  your  poor  hurted  arem,  an'  no  wan  to  care  for  it?  Na, 
na,  Luke  dear,  I  promised  to  bide  wi'  ye  for  weal  or  for 
woe,  for  better  or  for  warse.  An'  if  iver  there's  been  a 
warse  affair  in  our  life  heretofore  nor  this  randezvooin'  I 
can't  put  my  fingers  ontil  it. 

"Do  ye  call  it  daft  to  march  to  Braddock's  Field?  Well, 
than,  ye  men  must  all  be  daft,  from  the  highest  to  the  low 
est  of  ye;  an'  it  'ud  take  a  Solomon  to  tell  whether  tane  or 
tither  of  us  be  the  wiser.  When  one's  in  Roome,  I've  been 
telled,  one  must  do  as  the  Roomans  do.  So  I'll  jist  share 
an'  share  alike  wi'  ye,  an'  we  '11  all  be  daft  thegither,  Luke, 
for  it  ill  becomes  a  woman  to  be  wiser  nor  her  lord!" 

"Good  heavens,  Polly,  ye  can't  be  in  'arnest!"  cried 
Luke.  "What  '11  folk  say  to  see  me  traipsin'  intil  camp  with 
a  wife  at  the  tail  o'  me,  to  tind  an'  care  for  me?  Ye've 
been  a  true  wife  til  me,  Polly,  I  '11  no  gainsay  that.  But 
ye're  minded  the  now  to  be  like  the  kickin'  coo  that  knocks 
over  the  good  bucket  o'  milk  she's  jist  let  down.  Do  ye 
think  I'm  to  suffer  this?  Polly,  I  command  you — " 

"Jist  stop  right  there,  Luke  Latimer,"  interrupted 
Polly,  speaking  in  a  quiet  and  determined  voice  that  her 
husband  well  knew.  "It's  not  for  you  to  threap  nor  to  com 
mand  in  a  case  of  conscience;  an'  I've  got  a  conscience 
about  this  affair  as  well  as  yourself.  I've  been  a  loyal  an' 
biddable  wife  to  ye  all  these  years;  but  I'll  not  regard  your 
biddin'  now.  There's  jist  one  way  for  ye  to  kape  me  from 
goin'  on  this  march,  an'  that's  to  stay  at  home  yourself." 

At  the  height  of  the  altercation  a  company  of  militia 
came  up  the  road.  They  had  not  heard  the  hot  words  pass 
ing  from  husband  to  wife.  Judging  the  situation  only  by 
its  outward  seeming  they  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Latimer  were  going  forth  to  the  muster  with 
like  spirit.  They  set  up  a  great  cheer  for  Luke,  and  then 


THE   LATIMERS.  277 

more  rousing  huzzas  for  his  wife.  It  was  to  their  minds  a 
picturesque  and  thoroughly  patriotic  incident,  that  showed 
the  determined  purpose  of  the  people,  men  and  women 
alike,  to  oppose  the  excise  laws.  Andy  Burbeck  was  quick 
to  note  this  blunder,  and  to  see  in  it  a  happy  deliverance 
from  an  embarrassing  domestic  situation. 

"Come,  come,  Luke,"  said  he.  "Don't  ye  see  how  the 
cat  is  like  to  jump,  mon?  Things  are  not  so  bad  as  they 
look.  The  people  are  not  like  to  sansure  Mrs.  Latimer's 
march,  but  to  cheer  it;  an'  it's  not  humiliation  ye'll  git 
thereby,  but  honor,  don't  ye  see  ?  So  e'en  make  the  best  of 
a  bad  bargain,  an'  come  on  thegither,  the  two  of  ye.  An' 
besides,  A'  doubt  your  wrife  '11  not  go  furder  nor's  comely; 
an'  mayhap  she  '11  be  keen  enough  to  turn  back  afore  she 
gits  to  the  journey's  ind." 

So  it  was  settled.  Luke  accepted  the  door  of  escape 
opened  to  him,  and  putting  spurs  to  his  horse  sullenly  gal 
loped  up  the  road.  Mrs.  Latimer  cared  nothing  for  the 
cheers  of  the  people,  and  indeed  took  them  in  ill  part,  but 
she  was  too  politic  to  show  her  feelings  at  the  time.  She 
was  content  to  have  the  matter  so  easily  settled;  and  accom 
panied  by  Andy,  followed  at  more  leisurely  pace.  She 
knew  well  that  Luke's  wrath  would  soon  burn  itself  out, 
and  before  the  Ford  could  be  reached  he  would  be  recon 
ciled  to  the  situation. 

It  was  a  strange  cavalcade  that  thronged  the  road  lead 
ing  to  Braddock's  Ford.  The  militia  of  Washington 
County,  being  among  the  most  determined  and  inflam 
mable  of  the  revolutionists,  were  in  high  spirits.  With  the 
exception  of  those  who  secretly  disapproved  or  went  under 
compulsion  of  their  comrades,  they  made  the  march  merry 
with  shouting  and  laughter,  with  cheers  and  chaffing,  and 
all  manner  of  hilarious  outbursts.  The  woods  and  fields 
along  the  rough  road  echoed  with  fusilades,  for  they  could 
not  resist  the  natural  male  tendency  to  make  a  noise,  and 
fired  blank  shot  into  the  air. 

Most  of  them  had  some  kind  of  uniform,  chiefly  hunt 
ing  shirts  of  various  colors.  Intermingled  with  these  were 
divers  sorts  of  uniforms  held  over  from  the  War  of  Inde 
pendence,  which  gave  the  marching  bands  a  motley  look. 
Many  had  no  uniform,  but  plodded  on  in  citizens'  dress  with 
hunting  rifle,  and  bullet  pouch  and  powder  horn  thrown 
over  one  shoulder,  and  a  well-filled  haversack  on  the  other. 


278  THE   LATIMERS. 

Some  of  the  bands  were  mounted,  and  these  clattered  along 
the  road  and  joined  the  infantry  in  the  general  jubilee.  As 
they  reached  the  banks  of  the  Monongahela  at  the  Ford 
where  Braddock  and  his  ill-fated  army  had  crossed,  they 
dashed  into  the  waters,  and  the  river  being  low  at  that  mid 
summer  time,  easily  reached  the  opposite  bank. 

As  our  Canonsburg  party  issued  from  the  river  and 
ascended  the  ferry  road,  they  came  upon  David  Bradford 
passing  in  review  a  large  battalion  of  militiamen.  The 
arch  conspirator  had  assumed  the  degree  of  a  Major-Gen- 
eral.  He  was  mounted  on  a  superb  horse  in  splendid  trap 
pings,  was  arrayed  in  full  martial  uniform,  with  plumes 
floating  from  his  chapcau,  and  sword  drawn.  He  rode  up 
and  down  the  long  military  line,  and  then  halting  before 
the  centre,  removed  his  hat  and  harangued  the  militiamen 
in  the  style  of  a  demagogue  politician.  He  was  at  the 
height  of  popularity.  Every  person  in  the  camp  waited 
upon  his  bidding.  Everything  depended  upon  his  will. 
The  soldiers  paid  him  the  most  servile  homage,  some,  no 
doubt,  out  of  true  regard.  Many  hoped  to  secure  commis 
sions  and  favorable  positions  in  that  Arcadia  which  their 
dreams  had  depicted,  and  which  they  believed  to  be  near  at 
hand.  Others  acted  from  politic  motives,  with  a  patriotic 
wish  thus  to  better  control  and  manage  Bradford. 

His  oration  ended,  he  was  about  galloping  off  the  field, 
when  he  saw  Luke  and  his  party.  Thereupon,  with  several 
of  his  mounted  aids  clattering  at  his  heels,  he  rode  straight 
up  to  them,  greeted  Luke  warmly,  and  removing  his  hat, 
made  a  profound  bow  to  Mrs.  Latimer. 

"Most  welcome,  madam,  to  the  camp!"  he  exclaimed, 
bending  low  over  his  saddle  pommel,  and  fluttering  his 
plumed  chapeau  towards  Mrs.  Latimer.  "I  had  heard  of 
your  coming;  for  some  of  my  runners  reported  to  me  your 
patriotic  zeal  in  accompanying  your  husband  to  the  field. 
I  greet  you,  madam,  as  a  modern  Joan  of  Arc;  I  hail  you 
as  the  Deborah,  the  martial  prophetess  of  this  noble  rising 
to  assert  the  rights  of  our  western  Israel." 

Mrs.  Latimer  gently  bowed,  and  coolly  surveyed  the 
military  chieftain  with  a  searching  glance  that  seemed  to 
inquire  whether  he  was  paying  a  sincere  homage,  or  simply 
making  her  the  butt  of  a  poor  jest.  Then  she  gave  answer: 
"Ay,  Mr.  Bradford,  is  it  you  indade?  I  would  n't  ?a  knowed 
ye  in  all  your  bravery.  I  give  ye  due  return  for  your  cour- 


THE    LATIMERS.  279 

tesy,  as  far  as  it  is  intanded  for  sich;  but  it's  small  favor  I 
owe  ye,  an'  I  want  none  o'  your  fine  spaches." 

Bradford  was  taken  aback  by  this  response  to  his  nat 
tering  greeting.  He  cast  a  furtive  glance  to  one  side  and 
another  to  note  how  his  aids  were  affected;  and  darted  an 
angry  glance  at  Luke  as  if  protesting  against  this  treat 
ment  and  asking  him  to  interfere.  Luke  was  keenly  sensi 
tive  that  his  wife  should  not  figure  in  any  turmoil,  and 
was  much  vexed  by  the  incident  that  thus  fixed  the  atten 
tion  of  the  camp  upon  her.  He  touched  her  arm  and  spoke 
a  whispered  word  of  soothing  and  entreaty. 

"Not  now,  Luke  dear,  not  now!"  said  Mrs.  Latimer.  "I 
must  have  my  say,  ef  I  die  for't!  Jist  you  ride  away  an' 
Fave  me  to  aise  my  mind/' 

Luke,  seeing  that  the  torrent  of  speech  could  not  be 
stayed,  and  knowing  that  he  could  not  bide  quietly  by  and 
hearken,  bade  Andy  keep  fast  by  his  wife,  and  rode  off  into 
camp.  Bradford  was  half  inclined  to  follow  Luke's  ex 
ample,  and  afterwards  cursed  his  folly  for  not  doing  so. 
But  a  flush  of  shame  arose  with  the  thought  of  camp  gos 
sip,  and  ridicule  for  running  away  from  a  woman,  and  kept 
him  for  the  moment.  Meanwhile  Mrs.  Polly  took  up  her 
"burden"  and  held  him  to  the  spot. 

"It's  not  a  Deborah  that  I  am,  David  Bradford,"  she 
began,  "an'  God  forgive  ye  for  the  irriverance  of  sayin'  it. 
But  I'm  a-thinkin'  ye  '11  be  none  the  warse  of  a  woman's 
counsel,  an'  like  Barak  of  old,  ye'd  be  more  likely  to  git 
the  victory  for  the  same.  But  an  Deborah  herself  were 
here  she'd  be  likelier  to  turn  ye  back  nor  urge  ye  forad  in 
this  campaign.  Ay,  it's  anither  sort  of  a  female  altogither 
ye'll  be  like  to  meat.  I  misdoubt  it's  a  Jael  ye'll  find,  like 
another  Sisera,  if  ye  don't  mand  your  ways." 

So  speaking  she  swung  her  rifle  upward  with  a  quick 
gesture,  not  intending  a  threatening  movement,  but  from 
pure  nervousness  and  excitement  of  the  moment.  But 
David  Bradford  eyed  the  action  with  a  startled  look,  as  if 
the  fear  of  assassination  was  not  unfamiliar  to  his  mind, 
and  gathering  up  his  bridle  reins,  drew  his  horse  back. 

"Na,  na,  Mr.  Bradford,  ye  naden't  be  afear'd  o'  me. 
Leastways,  I'll  gie  ye  fair  warnin'  if  there's  anny  intintion 
of  usin'  this  weepon  agin  ye.  But  the  women  are  no  frin's 
of  your'n,  an'  I  tell  it  til  your  teeth.  We  were  p'aceable 
and  prosperous  enough,  wi'  all  our  poverty  an'  hard  wark, 


280  THE    LATIMERS. 

till  ye  came  wi'  your  axceesins  an'  your  dimycratic  socie 
ties,  an'  your  saycret  consortin's,  an'  your  house  burnin's, 
an'  riotin'  an'  killin'.  An'  whativer  is  this  all  to  and  in? 
What  if  the  times  were  hard  with  the  ravenue  laws,  an'  all 
that?  They  '11  be  warse  afore  they  're  better,  an'  all  along 
of  ye,  David  Bradford.  It's  better  to  sup  wi'  a  cutty  nor  to 
want  a  spoon;  an'  a  half  loafs  better  nor  no  bread.  But 
ye'll  tak  the  bread  out  of  the  mouths  of  widders  an' 
childer,  with  your  carryin's  on.  An'  what  care  ye,  if  your 
own  pride  an'  vanity  be  fostered?  Who  agged  on  poor 
McFarlane  to  his  doom  but  yourself;  an'  his  poor  dead 
face  lyin'  there  aneath  the  sod?  An'  disn't  it  ha'nt  your 
memory?  Who  tempted  my  Luke  to  rush  intil  the  thick 
o'  the  fight,  an'  come  home  to  me  wi'  his  arm  wounded  an' 
hurted,  an'  disabled  for  life,  mebbe,  an'  you  all  the  time 
safe  enough  at  your  own  fine  home  in  Washington? 

"An'  is  it  you  that  think  ye've  got  the  grit  to  lade  your 
grand  army  of  militiamen  agin  Fort  Pitt  with  its  hundred 
men?  Ay,  I  fancy  I  see  ye  a-chargin'  acrost  the  common  on 
your  horse,  with  it's  jinglin'  trappin's,  an'  you  the  mark 
for  ivery  musket  an'  cannon  ahint  the  pickets.  Ah  no, 
David  Bradford,  not  you,  indade!  Ye'll  be  settin'  my 
Luke,  or  some  other  brave  man  in  the  front  of  the  battle, 
as  David  did  Uriah,  an'  as  ye  did  McFarlane  at  Bower 
Hill." 

During  this  speech,  Bradford  shifted  uneasily  in  his 
saddle,  fumbled  with  the  reins,  grew  red  and  pale  by  turns, 
gazed  upon  the  ground,  then  glanced  furtively  to  tHe  right 
and  to  the  left  to  see  the  effect  of  this  outburst  upon  his 
attendants.  Finally,  with  his  glowing  face  turned  down 
ward,  he  sat  quite  still,  nervously  stroking  his  horse's  mane, 
and  hoping  that  the  end  was  near.  Seeing  no  cessation  of 
the  torrent,  he  here  interrupted,  in  a  soothing  tone. 

"Tut,  tut,  Mrs.  Latimer!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  are  car 
ried  away  by  your  anxiety  for  your  husband.  You  are  tak 
ing  too  gloomy  a  view  of  matters.  There  is  no  fear  of  our 
going  too  far.  Do  you  not  see  how  this  great  army  is  under 
my  control?  This  vast  camp  of  the  suns  of  Mars  will  halt 
or  move  forward  at  my  mere  bidding.  I  need  only  say  to 
them,  'Hitherto  shalt  thou  go  and  no  further.'  " 

"The  Lord  ha'  mercy  on  your  soul,  David  Bradford," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Polly,  "for  takin'  the  power  of  the  Al 
mighty  intil  your  own  hand.  But  who'd  axpec'  annything 


THE   LATIMERS.  281 

better?  It's  an  ower  true  sayin',  Set  a  beggar  on  horseback 
an7  he  '11  ride  to  the  deil!  You  turn  back  the  people?  Ay, 
if  ye  but  once  dar1  to  oppose  them,  ye  '11  see  how  brief  is 
your  authority.  You  're  lanein'  on  a  broken  reed,  indade, 
whan  ye  trust  to  the  favor  of  the  mob;  for  they're  no  bet 
ter  nor  they  were  whan  they  shouted  hosannas  over  our 
Blessed  Lord  the  one  day,  and  cried  Crucify  him!  the  next. 

"Gineral  Bradford,  forsooth!  I'll  not  call  ye  Gineral. 
Ye  have  no  commission  to  sich  an  office  as  that  but  your 
own  impydence  an'  presumption.  Ye're  no  chicken  for  all 
your  cheepin'.  It's  a  brief  day  your'n  '11  be.  Your  bravery 
will  all  be  stripped  from  ye,  an'  your  rod  of  the  com 
mander  broke  in  your  hand.  I'm  no  prophetess,  though  ye 
called  me  a  Deborah,  but  I  see  plain  enough  what  '11  come 
of  all  this.  David  Bradford  a-suin'  for  marcy  from  the 
Government!  Fleein'  from  the  angry  face  of  Prisidint 
Washington!  A  tomtit  agin  an  eagle!  Heaven  presarve 
us  from  sich  folly!  Is  the  warld  gone  mad,  that  the  likes  o' 
you  can  turn  men  agin  the  Father  of  his  Country  an'  agin 
their  country  itself?  Ay,  but  it  cannot  last  long.  Surely 
it's  a  pompous  time  ye're  havin'  the  now;  but  your  glory  '11 
be  as  the  fadin'  flower;  the  wind  ?11  pass  over  it  an'  it  711 
be  gone.  They  are  soundin'  your  praises  now  loud  enough, 
but  they  '11  soon  have  lost  the  tongue  o'  the  trump,  or 
changed  their  praises  intil  curses." 

Bradford,  during  this  last  outbreak,  had  shown  more 
signs  of  angry  impatience  than  before.  He  had  affected 
to  be  busy  with  his  mettlesome  horse,  and  fretted  for  a  good 
chance  to  escape.  He  here  was  happily  relieved  by  an 
orderly  who  rode  up  with  a  message.  With  a  sigh  of  relief, 
and  assuming  a  calmness  which  he  did  not  feel,  he  bowed 
with  mock  courtesy  towards  Mrs.  Latimer,  and  said: 

"I  never  quarrel  with  women.  It  would  be  beneath 
my  dignity  to  regard  a  word  of  your  tirade.  I  consider  the 
source,  and  will  not  stop  to  bandy  words  with  a  public 
scold.  There's  one  trump  that's  not  likely  to  lose  its 
tongue,  at  least  as  long  as  Mrs.  Polly  Latimer  lives."  With 
which  parting  shot,  he  made  another  mocking  salutation, 
and  galloped  away  followed  by  his  aids  and  orderlies. 

Andy  was  scarcely  able  to  restrain  himself.  He  doffed 
his  hat,  and  pushed  his  fingers  back  and  forth  through  his 


282  THE   LATIMEKS. 

shocky  hair.  At  one  time  he  was  aghast  at  the  lady's 
boldness,  and  fearful  of  the  consequences.  At  another  he 
buried  his  face  in  his  hat  as  though  to  hide  his  shame, 
but  really  to  conceal  the  secret  laughter  that  convulsed 
him.  When  Bradford  had  galloped  out  of  sight  he  mut 
tered: 

"God  be  praised,  it's  fairly  done  with!  Ye  '11  surely  feel 
better  now  that  ye've  relayed  your  mind,  Mrs.  Latimer; 
an'  it's  a  bould  woman  ye  are  to  baird  the  lion  in  his  dan 
like  this.  But  ye  might  have  saved  your  breath  to  cool 
your  broth.  The  man's  crookeder  nor  a  ram's  horn,  an' 
naythur  you  nor  me  '11  iver  straighten  him  out." 

Polly  gave  no  heed  to  these  words;  for  her  overstrained 
nerves  had  been  wrought  to  such  tension  that  the  reaction 
brought  forth  a  flood  of  tears,  which  greatly  relieved  her 
spirit.  "It's  no  shame  for  a  woman  to  weep,"  she  ex 
claimed,  as  she  wiped  her  eyes; "nay,  nor  for  a  man,  nayther, 
for  that  matter.  But  I'd  ruther  lose  an  eye  nor  let  David 
Bradford  see  me  a-greetin'  so.  But,  indade  an'  troth,  it 
?ud  make  a  stone  greet  to  see  the  folly  of  these  men,  an' 
how  the  whole  land's  gone  daft  after  this  feather-headed 
plotter.  Ay,  ay,  they  're  sittin'  beneath  his  shadow  with 
delight,  like  Jonah  inunder  his  goourd!  But  the  goourd 
cam'  up  in  a  night,  an'  in  a  night  the  worm  cut  it  down. 
But  I  had  meh  say,  an'  to  the  very  teeth  of  him,  an'  that's 
one  comfort,  ef  I  ne'er  git  another.  So  let  us  e'en  go  away 
an'  find  a  quiet  spot  to  ate  our  piece  in  comfort,  an'  then 
look  up  some  dacent  shelter  for  the  night." 


CHAPTEE  XXX. 


Bradford  as  he  galloped  away  vas  hot  with  chagrin  and 
anger,  which  he  tried  to  hide  from  his  attendants  under  a 
masque  of  indifference.  Indeed,  he  took  the  high  ground 
of  a  chivalrous  gentleman  who  would  not  hold  controversy 
with  a  woman.  Thus  he  soothed  his  ruffled  pride,  and 
talked  himself  into  his  normal  self-esteem,  a  result  much 
favored  by  the  hearty  greetings  given  him  as  he  moved 
through  the  camp.  Huzzas  followed  his  course  over  the 


THE    LATIMERS.  283 

field.  He  was  held  as  a  hero  of  the  New  Era,  the  Wash 
ington  of  the  West.  During  one  of  his  halts  to  inspect  a 
new  come  battalion,  he  spoke  of  being  thirsty.  Thereupon, 
a  soldier  rushed  into  the  river  waist  deep,  and  filling  his 
coon-skin  cap  with  cool  water  from  the  lowest  current,  ran 
up  to  the  chief  and  proffered  him  a  drink.  It  was  a  novel 
chalice,  indeed;  and  for  one  over  dainty  not  an  inviting 
one.  But  the  draught  was  sweetened  by  the  sincere  hom 
age  of  the  act,  such  as  a  subject  might  pay  to  a  king;  so 
Bradford  graciously  smiled,  and  drank,  and  returned  the 
strange  vessel  with  thanks.  Acts  like  these,  continually 
occurring,  nourished  Bradford's  ambition  to  be  the  idol 
of  the  people.  Presently  he  came  across  Luke  Latimer  in 
the  midst  of  a  group  of  soldiers  belonging  to  "The  Bloody 
Battalion,"  as  the  Mingo  Creek  regiment  was  popularly 
called,  because  most  of  them  had  been  in  the  Bower  Hill 
fight.  Bradford  dismounted  and  signified  his  wish  for  a 
private  conference.  The  two  leaders  walked  apart,  and 
sheltered  under  a  wide-spreading  oak,  considered  the  situa 
tion. 

"You  see,"  said  Bradford  with  jubilant  voice,  sweeping 
his  arm  toward  the  camp,  "that  I  was  right.  The  people 
have  responded  nobly,  and  here  is  a  grand  army  of  eight 
thousand  men  of  war.  You  were  a  doubting  Thomas.  But 
lo!  they  come  at  my  call,  flocking  like  doves  to  their  win 
dows,  full  of  enthusiasm  and  ready  to  follow  wherever  I 
bid  them." 

"Ay,"  said  Luke,  "there's  no  doubt  of  it,  Mr.  Bradford. 
It's  a  great  honor,  sir,  and  a  great  responsibility.  But  now 
you  have  your  grand  army  here,  what  are  you  goin'  to  do 
with  it?  What  are  your  plans,  Mr.  Bradford?" 

"To-morrow  we  shall  meet  in  a  military  conference, 
to  settle  that  point." 

"That's  well  enough.  But  what  have  you  settled  upon 
yourself?  That's  what  I'm  concarned  to  know." 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  I  shall  decree  the  banishment 
of  the  Nevilles  and  those  obnoxious  parties  who  have  op 
posed  the  people's  movement  against  the  excise  law." 

"But  that's  done  a'ready,  and  the  Pittsburgers  say  the 
men  are  gone." 

"But  I'll  not  trust  the  Pittsburgers!"  said  Bradford 
with  warmth.  "Besides,  the  people  have  come  here  to  do 
something,  and  something  they  must  do,  or  they'll  be  ill 


284  THE    LATIMERS. 

satisfied.  We'll  decree  the  banishment  of  spies  and  aristo 
crats  with  the  authority  of  the  people  of  the  Survey." 

"Be  it  so  then;  we'll  all  agree  to  that!"  said  Luke, 
"though  I  misdoubt  it  '11  do  more  harem  nor  good.  We  '11 
make  heroes  of  'em,  and  ceevil  martyrs  for  conscience  sake, 
and  their  axile  '11  be  sure  to  pave  the  way  to  gover'ment 
favors.  What  next?" 

"Well,  there's  been  a  good  deal  of  talk  against  the  Pitts- 
burgers,  and  some  are  eager  to  destroy  the  houses  of  the 
proscribed  citizens." 

"But  you  're  not  incouragin'  that,  I  trust?"  Luke  said, 
speaking  up  hastily.  "We  've  had  aplenty  of  burnin's. 
You  must  put  your  foot  on  that  schame  at  wanct." 

"Must?"  exclaimed  Bradford.  "That's  not  exactly  the 
word  to  speak  to  a  man  in  my  commanding  position.  But 
let  it  pass.  I'm  quite  satisfied  with  the  Pittsburg  folk 
now,  and  am  content  that  they  should  be  protected.  But 
there's  the  principal  scheme  we  had  in  view,  to  seize  Fort 
Pitt,  and  procure  its  military  stores.  The  camp,  I  find,  is 
full  of  that  plan." 

"It's  a  manlier  business  that,"  Luke  answered,  "nor 
assaultin'  an'  burnin'  citizens'  houses.  That's  true  war, 
an'  worthy  of  ginuwine  soldiers.  Ye  '11  git  high  name, 
indade,  Mr.  Bradford,  if  ye  captur'  Fort  Pitt." 

"Yes,"  said  Bradford  impatiently;  "but  you've  dodged 
the  point.  What  say  you,  shall  we  attack  or  not?" 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Bradford,"  Luke  answered,  "I  may 
have  dodged  the  p'int,  as  ye  say;  but  I'm  not  the  kind  of 
mon  to  dodge  the  danger  after  aggin'  others  onto  it,  like 
some  folk  I  could  name.  Ye  are  the  Giner'l  here,  I  belave; 
Giner'l  Bradford,  at  your  sarvice! — an'  nobody  doubts  that. 
It's  for  a  true  Giner'l  to  command,  an'  for  his  soldiers  to 
obey.  Now,  all  I'll  say  is,  that  if  ye  '11  lade  the  assault  on 
Fort  Pitt,  I'll  ride  by  your  side!  But  ye  '11  not  put  the 
anterprise  onto  some  one  else  an'  ye  take  the  credit,  as  ye 
did  with  my  poor  fri'nd,  McFarlane.  Ye  're  not  in  Wash- 
in'ton  County  the  now,  an'  ye  '11  not  be  able  to  flee  from 
danger  on  the  plea  of  bein'  prosecutin'  attorney.  If  Fort 
Pitt's  to  be  attacked,  I'll  insist  on  you  headin'  the  assault. 
It  'ud  be  onhealthy  business  for  anny  of  us  1'aders  to  flee 
from  the  front  in  the  day  of  battle." 

"By  heavens,  sir!"  cried  Bradford,  waxing  wroth  and 
flushing  red.  "Do  you  dare  insult  and  threaten  me?" 


THE   LATIMERS.  285 

He  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword,  perhaps  unconsciously  and 
in  a  mere  declamatory  spirit. 

Luke,  with  unruffled  temper,  looked  the  leader  in  the 
face.  "My  good  right  arm  is  useless,"  he  said,  "as  ye  see, 
David  Bradford.  But," — and  he  slipped  his  left  hand  to 
the  butt  of  the  pistol  at  his  belt,  "I  am  well  fit  to  defand 
myself  still,  if  nade  be,  an'  ye  may  jist  as  well  quiet  your 
bluster.  Ye  know  bravely  Fm  not  afeared  of  ye,  an'  have 
no  cause  to  be.  I'm  not  in  favor  of  attackin'  Fort  Pitt, 
mind  ye.  All  Fm  a-sayin'  is  that  if  it's  done,  Giner'l  Brad 
ford  '11  lade  the  column.  An'  yonder's  the  boys,"  point 
ing  to  the  camp  of  the  Mingo  Creek  regiment,  "that  '11 
stan'  by  me  in  that  resolve." 

Thus  the  two  men  stood,  eyeing  one  another  for  a 
moment.  What  were  their  reflections?  Bradford  had 
already  begun  to  experience  some  of  the  burdens  of  promi 
nence.  Underneath  all  the  acclamations  of  the  people,  he 
could  dimly  note  difficulties  that  threatened  the  ruin  of 
his  schemes.  He  seemed  to  feel  the  power  slipping  from 
his  grasp.  The  warning  of  Mrs.  Latimer,  the  resolute 
challenge  of  Gen.  Wilkins,  who  led  the  Pittsburg  contin 
gent,  the  present  attitude  of  his  associate  Luke  Latimer, 
were  they  not  straws  upon  the  current's  surface? 

What  should  he  do0  Was  he  willing  to  throw  his  life 
away  in  a  mad  charge  on  Fort  Pitt?  No,  but  he  would  not 
have  the  people  even  suspect  that  he  shrank  from  such  a 
sacrifice.  Whom  could  he  inspire  or  trust  to  do  that  act? 
And  if  done  by  another,  would  not  the  honor  be  transferred 
to  him,  and  all  his  own  pomp  be  truly  a  faded  flower?  It 
wouldn't  do!  That  scheme  must  be  given  up.  But 
then? —  There  was  indeed  the  rub!  The  people  must 
have  something  to  do  that  would  satisfy  their  sense  of 
importance.  He  must  throw  some  tub  to  the  whale.  This 
howling  Cerberus  of  a  mob  around  him  must  have  some  sop 
to  fill  and  still  its  mouth.  Would  the  militia  be  satisfied 
with  the  mere  banishment  of  the  proscribed  Pittsburgers? 
It  was  the  best  he  could  offer,  however;  and  he  couldn't 
afford  to  part  with  Luke  Latimer's  help  in  relieving  the 
straitened  situation.  Yet — 

As  for  Luke,  his  thoughts  were  bitter  with  disappoint 
ment.  There  had  been  a  time  when  in  spite  of  his  wife's 
prejudices  he  had  confided  in  David  Bradford.  Do  women 
have  a  sort  of  sixth  sense  in  reading  men's  characters?  He 


286  THE   LATIMERS. 

had  thought  him  the  fit  leader  for  the  hour  and  exigency. 
He  had  learned  better.  Recent  events  had  uncovered  the 
man's  littleness  arid  utter  unfitness  for  the  leadership  of 
such  an  enterprise  as  now  on  foot.  Discerning  this,  Luke's 
mind  had  run  up  and  down  the  Western  counties  for  some 
one  of  due  proportions  to  fill  the  position.  The  natural 
leaders  of  the  people  were  nearly  all  opposed  to  the  insur 
rection. 

There  was  nothing  left  for  them  to  do  but  make  a 
peaceful  though  vigorous  remonstrance  and  petition  to 
General  Washington  and  the  Congress,  to  repeal  the  excise 
laws.  Even  this,  he  feared,  would  be  made  null  by  this 
senseless  rendezvous  of  armed  men.  Do  folk  gather  for 
peaceful  petitions  with  weapons  in  their  hands?  Confound 
Bradford,  with  his  vanity  and  folly!  He  had  been  a  will- 
o'-the-wisp,  and  led  them  all  into  the  bogs,  and  there  they 
were  floundering  now,  and  he  not  able  to  crook  a  finger 
toward  lifting  them  out!  What  could  he,  Luke,  do  now  but 
try  to  undo  all  mischief  done,  and  thwart  every  project  of 
violence  that  might  be  hatched  at  Braddock's  Field,  or 
elsewhere?  That  he  would  do,  come  what  may.  Yet — 

Those  who  know  what  a  vast  compass  of  thought  can  be 
gathered  within  a  few  seconds  of  time,  will  not  think  it 
strange  that  all  these  reflections  flashed  before  the  minds 
of  these  two  men  within  the  brief  space  wherein  they  stood 
eyeing  one  another,  each  with  hand  upon  weapon  and  a 
frown  upon  his  brow.  Bradford  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Come/7  he  said,  "we  cannot  afford  to  quarrel  now  and 
here.  If  the  leaders  fall  out,  what  will  the  people  do  ?  We 
must  adjourn  our  differences  to  a  suitable  time;  and  be  you 
sure,  Luke  Latimer,  I'll  not  be  wanting  you  then!" 

"I  am  quite  agreed,"  answered  Luke.  "I  seek  no  war 
fare  with  you,  Mr.  Bradford,  nor  with  anny  mon.  We 
understan'  another,  I  belave.  I  '11  support  ye  jist  so  far  an' 
no  farder.  I  '11  stan'  by  the  cause  as  long  as  there's  anny 
cause  to  stan'  by.  But  I'm  free  to  say  til  ye  that  my  chief 
concarn  is  to  kape  this  armed  mob  (for  it's  little  better 
nor  that,  though  ye  call  it  a  grand  army),  from  sich  dades 
of  violence  as  'ud  bring  upon  us  the  judgment  of  the 
country.  I  trust  ye  to  aid  me  in  that,  sir;  an'  I  doubt  not 
ye  wall.  I  wush  ye  good  avenin'!" 

Thus  they  parted.  Bradford  resumed  his  itineracy  of 
the  camp,  and  got  soothing  from  the  acclamations  of  the 


THE   LATIMERS.  287 

enthusiastic  soldiery,  though  with  a  shadow  of  trouble 
deepening  upon  his  spirit.  Luke  returned  to  his  friends, 
and  soon  found  his  wife,  who  easily  persuaded  him  to  go 
with  her  to  a  nearby  farmhouse  where  she  had  arranged 
to  spend  the  night.  In  truth,  Luke's  arm  sorely  pained 
him  and  the  fatigue  of  the  journey  and  the  excitement  of 
the  day  had  left  him  no  choice  but  to  lie  down  and  rest, 
and  gather  vitality  for  the  trying  scenes  of  the  morrow. 

He  did  not  tell  his  wife  of  his  interview  with  Bradford. 
Indeed,  he  had  not  confided  to  her  his  changed  opinion  of 
that  man's  character,  and  his  real  purpose  in  coming  to 
camp,  or  his  plans  to  stay  further  violence  and  bloodshed. 
As  to  the  last-named  matter,  he  had  that  curious  diffidence 
which  some  men  possess  over  the  mention  of  kindly  and 
noble  deeds,  and  the  perverseness  which  leads  them  to  hide 
worthy  motives  beneath  an  aifected  indifference,  or  even 
a  sympathy  with  evil  wholly  foreign  to  their  nature. 

There  is  nothing  harder  for  a  man  than  to  confess  to 
his  wife  that  he  was  mistaken  in  matters  wherein  he  had 
radically  differed  from  her.  It  would  have  been  a  great 
satisfaction  to  Mrs.  Polly  had  Luke  plumply  admitted 
that  her  view  of  David  Bradford  had  been  right  and  his 
own  wrong.  But  somehow  he  could  not  bring  his  tongue 
to  the  telling.  Mrs.  Latimer  inwardly  suspected  the  fact, 
but  was  too  wise  and  too  loving  to  triumph  over  it,  or  even 
to  disclose  her  suspicions.  She  tended  and  soothed  him, 
and  spoke  no  word  to  cross  his  will,  or  ruffle  his  temper,  or 
evoke  an  outbreak  from  his  nerves  overstrained  and  irri 
tated  by  pain  and  weakness  and  trouble. 

Nothing  passed  between  the  two  as  to  Polly's  colloquy 
with  Gen.  Bradford,  for  each  feared  that  it  might  lead  to 
angry  words  and  so  avoided  the  subject.  But  Andy  Bur- 
beck  sought  an  opportunity  to  tell  Luke  how  the  affair  had 
issued,  and  soon  saw  that  he  was  not  vexed  at  his  story. 
He  gave  full  vent  to  his  humor,  and  dished  out 
the  whole  interview  with  fine  flavor  of  wit  and  ridicule. 

Luke  grew  more  complaisant  as  the  story  proceeded. 
At  last  as  Andy  pictured  Bradford's  perplexity  and 
wounded  pride,  and  humbled  vanity,  and  suppressed  anger, 
he  gave  way  to  silent  laughter.  "Did  she  say  that  indade?" 
he  would  mutter  now  and  then.  "Ay,  ay,  I  think  I  see  her! 
God  bless  the  lass!"  Once  more,  he  would  exclaim,  "My 
certie!  What  a  woman  it  is,  Andy!  She'd  face  Sattan 


288  THE    LATIMERS. 

himself  without  wincin',  I  do  belave!"  And  again:  "Well, 
she  hit  the  nail  squarely  on  the  head  there,  sure  enough." 
Once  more  he  broke  forth:  "The  consated  boobbly-jock! 
Ay,  she  cut  his  comb  for  him  fine.  Heaven's  blessin's  on 
her!  I'm  prouder  of  her  nor  iver." 

"But,  whist,  Andy,"  he  added,  when  the  story  was  done, 
"not  a  word  of  all  this  to  Polly,  mind  ye !  I  wouldn't  have 
her  know  that  Fve  h'ard  how  she  carried  on;  an'  above  all, 
that  I  applauded.  It  wouldn't  do,  Andy.  It  might  break 
my  inflooence  with  the  woman  altogither,  an'  destroy  the 
authority  that  a  husband  should  presarve." 

But  Andy  made  no  promise;  and  took  the  first  oppor 
tunity  to  tell  Mrs.  Latimer  all  about  the  interview,  and 
thereby  gave  a  warmth  to  the  good  woman's  heart,  and  set 
her  blood  tingling  with  a  secret  joy  she  had  not  felt  for 
many  a  day. 

"But,  whist,  Mrs.  Polly/'  Andy  added;  "not  a  word  of 
all  this  to  Luke,  mind  ye!  I'd  niver  git  forgiveness  ef  he 
knowed  I  had  betrayed  him,  an'  telt  ye  this  tale." 

Polly  kept  her  promise  then  made;  and  both  husband 
and  wife  blundered  on  to  the  end,  and  neither  ever  knew 
what  went  on  in  the  other's  mind.  Ah,  the  masquerades 
that  pride  draws  over  love!  How  much  domestic  happiness 
do  they  smother  and  conceal! 


CHAPTEE  XXXI. 

NIGHT  SCENES  IN  CAMP  AND  THE  MARCH  TO  PITTSBURG. 

As  the  day  closed,  the  field  presented  an  animated 
appearance.  Here  and  there  groups  of  militia  were  seated 
upon  grassy  bits  beneath  great  white  oaks,  chatting  as  they 
ate  together  their  home-cooked  rations.  Others  were  firing 
at  mark,  a  favorite  and  never-failing  amusement  to  border 
ers.  Yet  others,  in  pure  wantonness  of  spirit,  fired  fusi- 
lades  of  blank  shot.  As  evening  advanced,  quiet  fell  upon 
the  vast  irregular  camp,  which  now  began  to  lighten  with 
bivouac  fires  that  stretched  in  a  long  line  along  the  river 
bank,  and  were  reflected  in  the  running  waters. 

There  was  little  effort  to  establish  camp  discipline. 
A  few  companies  and  regiments  had  made  some  show  of 


THE   LATIMERS.  289 

posting  sentinels.    But  for  the  most  part  the  men  looked 
out  for  themselves,  and  came  and  went  at  pleasure. 

By  ten  o'clock  at  night  the  shouting  and  shooting  had 
ceased,  but  there  was  little  sleep.  Everywhere  men  were 
gathered  in  groups  discussing  the  events  of  the  day,  guess 
ing  at  and  canvassing  the  leader's  plans,  and  speculating 
upon  the  end  of  it  all.  Andy  Burbeck,  not  being  inclined 
to  sleep,  sallied  forth  to  pick  up  such  news  as  might  be 
agog.  His  hap  was  to  fall  upon  a  knot  of  countrymen  who 
were  seated  about  Mr.  Hugh  Brackenridge,  at  the  foot  of  a 
huge  oak,  discussing  the  taking  of  the  garrison. 

"Are  we  to  take  the  fort?" 

"We  are  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Brackenridge. 

"Ay,  but  can  we  do  it?" 

"No  doubt  of  that!  They  are  not  a  hrundred  men,  and 
we  are  five  or  six  thousand." 

"But  then,  they  are  behind  breastworks,  and  have  can 
non.  It  will  be  risky  work,  will  it  not,  and  the  loss  great." 

"Yes,  there  are  cannon;  four  six-pounders  mounted  on 
ship  carriages,  and  four  hundred  shot  made  at  Turnbull 
and  Marmie's  Furnace.  But  the  loss  will  not  be  above  one 
thousand  killed,  and  five  hundred  mortally  wounded." 

"What?  Merciful  Heaven!  That  is  a  serious  affair, 
indeed!  One  thousand  killed!  What  a  sacrifice  of  life!  Is 
the  game  worth  the  candle?  What  will  be  gained  by  the 
capture  of  the  fort  to  pay  for  such  slaughter?" 

Andy  caught  the  drift  of  the  Pittsburg  lawyer's  scheme, 
to  prevent  an  act  of  war  upon  the  United  States  by  exag 
gerating  the  difficulties  and  dangers.  With  hearty  good 
will  to  aid  in  this  he  joined  the  conversation. 

"What  is  there  to  gain?  Why,  ye  '11  make  Giner7! 
David  Bradford  wan  of  the  greatest  men  in  the  nation. 
What's  a  thousand  lives  to  the  glory  that  '11  come  til  him? 
Isn't  he  the  Washington  of  the  Wist,  the  Darlin'  of  the 
Wistern  Survey,  the  Idol  of  the  Camp?  An'  think  of  the 
honor  that  '11  come  to  all  of  us, — that  Providence  shall 
spare, — for  a-capturin'  the  fort?  Ay,  the  gover'ment  '11 
see  then  that  we  're  in  'arnest,  and  that  this  is  a  genuwine 
rebellion,  an'  no  mistake;  an'  that  they  '11  have  to  sind  a 
mighty  army  intil  the  Wist  if  they  axpic'  to  put  it  down." 

"But  how  are  we  going  to  take  the  fort?" 

"Isn't  the  boldest  way  the  best  way?     What's  more 
soldierly  nor  to  take  Fort'Pitt  by  storm,  as  Mad  Anthony 
19 


290  THE   LATIMERS. 

Wayne  did  Stony  Point.  There's  no  more  nor  a  half  mile 
of  open  space  for  our  troops  to  rush  over.  An'  we're  in  sich 
overwhelmin'  numbers,  that  enough  '11  be  sure  to  reach 
the  fort  to  fairly  swarm  over  the  pickets  and  swamp  all 
afore  'em.  Sure,  that's  as  aisy  as  kissin'." 

Now  the  conversation  changed  from  methods  of  attack 
to  the  battle  at  Bower  Hill.  Major  Kirkpatrick  was  bit 
terly  assailed  as  the  real  cause  of  the  burning  of  the  Neville 
mansion,  and  of  the  death  of  McFarlane,  because  of  his 
refusal  to  let  the  house  be  searched.  Major  Butler,  com 
mander  of  the  fort,  shared  the  condemnation  for  sending 
troops  to  garrison  the  place.  Marshal  Lenox  also  came  in 
for  hearty  denunciation,  as  did  young  Ormsby,  who  accom 
panied  him  and  Col.  Neville  to  Bower  Hill  after  the  fire. 
The  insurgents  disarmed  him  of  pistol  and  hanger, 
mounted  him  on  a  barebacked  colt  and  turned  him  adrift. 
This  young  man  had  continued  to  give  great  offense  not 
only  by  his  zealous  championship  of  the  excise  faction,  but 
by  his  bravado  and  gasconnade. 

"Ay,  and  the  pert  young  chap  is  here  on  the  grounds, 
we  1'arn,"  one  of  the  group  remarked.  "Was  there  iver 
such  brazen-faced  impidence.  But  he  had  better  look  out; 
for  a  party  of  fifteen  young  fellows  have  disguised  their 
faces  with  black  coals,  and  gone  forth  with  a  good  rope  to 
seize  him.  If  they  get  hold  of  him,  he  is  like  to  take  a 
higher  spring  than  he  ever  yet  made  in  his  liveliest  dance." 

Andy,  who  knew  Ormsby's  father  as  a  worthy  man,  was 
grieved  at  this  news.  But  he  concealed  his  feelings  with 
merry  quip  and  jest,  and  took  occasion  of  the  laughter 
raised  thereby  to  retire  to  do  duty  as  a  sentinel.  He  strolled 
leisurely  toward  the  quarter  where  the  Pittsburg  battalion 
was  encamped.  He  came  to  the  pathway  leading  up  to  it, 
along  which  he  was  sure  the  maskers  would  pass  in  their 
search  for  the  youth.  Then  he  shouldered  his  rifle  and 
began  to  pace  to  and  fro.  He  had  not  mounted  guard 
long  ere  Zedick  Wright  of  Peter's  Creek  came  by.  Know 
ing  him  to  be  well  affected  toward  the  Ormsbys,  Andy 
bade  him  hasten  to  give  the  youth  warning  of  his  danger. 
Meanwhile,  he  would  wait  to  detain  and  divert  the 
lynchers.  Soon  he  descried,  through  the  dim  light  within 
the  woods,  a  party  of  fifteen  men  approaching.  Their 
faces  and  hands  were  blackened,  and  other  rude  attempts 
at  disguise  were  made  by  change  of  garments. 


THE   LATIMERS.  291 

"Halt!"  cried  Andy.  "Who  goes  there?"  The  party 
stopped,  and  one  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader  advanced 
and  demanded  what  he  meant  by  stopping  them. 

"What  do  A'  mane?"  answered  Andy.  "A  purty  lot  of 
soldiers  ye  must  be  to  ask  that  quistion  of  a  santinel.  By 
the  powers,  if  ye  try  to  run  the  gyard,  A'll  have  to  t'ach 
ye  a  lesson.  Oh!  A'  see!"  He  suddenly  assumed  a  dignified 
and  paternal  tone.  "A'  took  ye  for  a  party  of  mileetiamen, 
an'  didn't  persave  ye  were  a  gang  o'  negro  sarvants.  But 
what  are  ye  at,  men,  a-wanderin'  off  in  this  way;  at  this 
hour  of  the  night?  Git  back  to  your  masters,  at  wanct! 
It's  not  safe  for  the  like  of  ye  to  be  abroad  in  these  times. 
What!  ye  don't  heed  me?  Mebbe  it's  runnin'  away  ye  are? 
Disparse,  ye  black  rascals,  or  A'll  call  out  the  gyard,  and 
you  '11  be  arristed,  and  get  a  taste  o'  the  cat  for  breakfast." 

The  leader,  who  had  several  times  tried  to  interrupt 
this  tirade,  at  last  broke  forth.  "Come,  Andy,  drop  that 
chaff,  won't  ye?  Don't  be  a  dawgoned  Teague!  Can't  you 
see,  you  natchel  antic,  that  we  're — " 

"Ye  bloody  nayger!"  shouted  Andy,  with  well  assumed 
rage.  "Do  you  dar  insult  a  white  man,  an'  a  soldier  an' 
santinel  on  duty?  By  the  sword  of  the  valiant  Giner'l 
Bradford  A'll  put  a  hole  through  your  black  hide,  ye  im- 
pident  blackamoor!"  Thereat,  he  lowered  his  rifle  with  a 
sharp  spat  into  his  palm,  as  though  to  shoot. 

"Halt,  there!"  cried  the  leader.  "Don't  shoot,  you 
dratted  old  fool!  I'm  Dave  Dandruff.  We're  white  men." 

"What?"  said  Anly,  with  well-feigned  surprise.  "Can 
that  be  you,  Davvy?  An'  are  you  quite  sure  of  it?  If 
you  're  not — it's  sayrious  wark  a-triflin'  with  a  santinel,  A' 
can  tell  ye,  ma  Jad!  But  ye  know  that  well  enough,  though 
you  're  not  overweighted  with  kenspeckle;  for,  the  las'  time 
we  met  you  were  a  santinel  yourself." 

"Jist  let  that  fly  stick  to  the  wall,  will  you?"  answered 
Dandruff.  "Jack  Latimer  '11  find  it  no  laughin'  matter 
agin  I've  settled  my  grudge, — " 

"Hoot!  Davvy  mon,"  Andy  interrupted.  "A  grudge 
is  the  last  debt  one  ought  to  settle.  Drop  it,  lad! 
It's  good  business  to  be  a  long  debtor  when  a  grudge 
is  owrin'.  Let  bygones  be  bygones,  an'  prove  your 
self  a  good  Christian  as  well  as  a  wise  man.  For,  Davvy 
dear,  Cap'n  Jock  Latimer  is  oncommon  canny  with  his 
two  fists,  an'  has  a  wonderful  grip  with  his  fingers,  an'  a 


292  THE   LATTMEES. 

quare  trick  with  his  heels,  as  ye  may  remimber,  hey?  Best 
let  sleepin'  dogs  lie,  Davvy!" 

"Dod-rot  Jack  Latimer,  I  say!"  exclaimed  the  irate 
leader.  "An?  drat  you  for  an  aggravatin'  tease.  You  're 
worse  nor  the  skeeters,  the  tarnal  plagues!"  He  brushed 
a  cloud  of  the  irritating  insects  from  his  face  by  way  of 
emphasizing  these  words.  "The  woods  it,  full  of  'em,,  dang 
their  pesky  picters!  But,  we  've  no  time  now  for  pow- 
wowin'.  Jist  l'ave  us  go.  We've  got  better  business  in 
hand  nor  gossipin'  here  with  you." 

"All  right!"  said  Andy.  "A7  crave  your  pardon/if  you're 
on  military  business.  But  whativer  can  it  be  that  com 
pels  this  sort  o'  maskin'?  A'  jealous  it's  no  respictable  busi 
ness  that  takes  ye  out  in  this  blackamoor  rig.  But  mebbe 
this  is  some  new  device  of  Giner'l  Bradford's  fine  wit? 
He's  a  knowledgeable  man  in  military  affairs,  he  is!  A 
company  of  black-guards,  mebbe,  he  is  after  formin'? 
Well,  indade,  he's  not  lackin'  in  his  selection;  an'  A'd 
racommind  him  to  tak'  you  for  his  own  bodygyard.  But 
jist  show  me  your  orders,  Cap'n  Dandruff;  merely  for 
form's  sake,  ye  know,  an'  A'll  raise  no  farder  objiction." 

"Orders  be  hanged!"  cried  Davy,  on  whom  much  of 
Andy's  fine  raillery  was  lost.  "The  only  orders  we  've  got 
is  this  quile  of  good  hemp  and  a  hick'ry  limb  for  Bill 
Ormsby  to  swing  til,  when  we  once  nab  him." 

"Aha!  the  cat  jumps  that  way,  does  it?  Now  A'  take 
your  trail,"  said  Andy.  "'An'  so  it's  a  meelitary  axecution 
that  Giner'l  Bradford's)  Black-guard  Battalion  is  bent 
upon?  Ay,  that  indade!  Well,  A'  dar  say  Bill  Ormsby 
desarves  a-hangin';  but,  Davvy  dear,  childer  shouldn't 
meddle  with  aidged  tools,  ye  know.  A  quile  of  rope,  like  a 
two-aidged  sword,  cuts  both  ways.  The  party  at  the  one 
ind  is  likely  to  be  the  party  at  t'other  ind  afore  the  hurly- 
burly  's  done.  Disn't  it  seem  rather  suggistive,  for  rebels 
an'  ansurractionists  like  oursilves  to  be  goin'  intil  the 
hangin'  business?  There's  two  can  play  at  that  game,  ye 
know!  An'  for  my  part,  A'd  rayther  not  remind  the  United 
States  Gover'ment  of  rope's  inds,  jist  now!" 

That  seemed  to  be  an  entirely  new  view  of  the  matter 
to  the  troop  of  lynchers,  who  had  now  gathered  around 
the  speaker.  But  they  would  not  be  put  off  by  such  intan 
gible  perils  as  Andy  suggested.  They  meant  to  teach  the 
impudent  rascal  a  lesson,  and  all  the  Pittsburg  aristocrats, 


THE    LATIMERS.  293 

to  boot!  High  times  indeed,,  quoth  they,,  when  such  folk 
came  into  camp,  and  cut  their  contraptions  inunder  their 
very  noses!  Bill  Ormsby  had  got  to  hang,  if  they  should 
hang  for  it  themselves. 

"Ah,  well!  You  an'  the  Gover'ment  for  it  then,"  said 
Andy.  "It  '11  be  dog  eat  dog,  A'  reckon.  Who  will  to 
Coupar,  must  to  Coupar.  But  my  counsel  is,  lads,  that  ye 
let  Ormsby  alone.  Ye  '11  jist  be  spilein'  a  few  yards  of 
good  hemp,  an'  git  no  credit  for  yourselves  or  the  cause. 
You're  not  likely  to  reform  a  man's  manners  by  a-hangin' 
him.  But  annyhow,  you  '11  hardly  hang  the  man  afore 
you  ketch  him.  Do  you  know  where  he  is?" 

"Ay!  he's  up  in  the  Pittsburg  camp;  an'  we  know  where 
to  lay  hands  on  'im." 

"Well,  yon  is  the  Pittsburg  camp,  where  you  see  the 
fires  on  the  knoll.  You  and  them  for  it,  now!  But  see  you 
git  the  right  man,  Davvy.  It  'ud  be  a  rare  blunder  an 
you  were  to  string  up  the  wrong  chap.  Ye  know  ye  've  a 
born  genius  for  blunderin',  Davvy  dear." 

"Kape  your  advice  for  them  as  axes  it!"  answered  Dan 
druff.  "We  know  him  as  well  as  you  do." 

"Then  you  are  not  likely  to  pass  for  Solomons;  for  A'm 
not  acquent  with  the  lad.  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he?" 

"Well,  he's  rather  tallish;  about  my  height,  mebbe. 
Trim  lookin'  and  nately  dressed;  with  short  hair." 

"What!"  Andy  exclaimed,  starting,  and  speaking  up 
quickly.  "A'  seen  that  fellow  within  the  hour!  Is  he  fair 
complected,  with  blue  eyes  an'  reddish-yallow  hair;  a  per 
nickety  sort  of  chap?" 

"Yes!" 

"Eayther  thin,  an'  wiry  build;  about  your  height?" 

"That  must  be  the  very  feller!  An'  ef  you've  seen  him, 
as  you  say,  jest  set  us  on  his  trail!"  The  troop  crowded 
closer  about  Andy  with  eager  faces. 

"Well  then,  jist  sich  a  man  went  down  thai  way,"  point 
ing  to  the  Monongahela  road,  "a  little  while  ago.  He 
was  makin'  for  Pittsburg  as  if  old  Nick  was  after  him." 

"That's  him!  Hurrah  lads,  we  've  got  him  now!  After 
him!"  cried  Davy,  starting  forward. 

"Hold  on!"  shouted  Andy,  "you  '11  niver  overtake  him. 
He's  got  too  big  a  start.  You  had  as  well  turn  back."  But 
this  remonstrance  was  unheeded.  The  troop  was  already  in 
full  cry  after  the  quarry,  leaving  the  sentinel  leaning  on 


294  THE   LATIMERS. 

his  rifle,  looking  after  them  as  they  disappeared  down  the 
river  road,  and  well  contented  with  his  success  in  delay 
ing  them  so  long.  He  resumed  his  watch-round,  for  he 
knew  that  the  lynching  party  would  be  hack  that  way. 

A  half  hour  or  more  elapsed  ere  he  saw  their  forms 
showing  against  the  gray  of  the  road,  and  brought  into 
clearer  outline  by  the  red  glow  of  Anschutz's  Shadyside 
furnace,  whose  flames  showed  above  the  treetops.  They 
approached  slowly.  They  had  not  caught  their  game,  and 
were  crestfallen  thereat. 

"What's  the  news,  gintilmin?"  asked  Andy,  bent  upon 
soothing  their  disappointment  with  deference  of  speech. 
"Have  ye  finished  your  wark  to  your  satisfaction?" 

"Satisfaction  be  blowed!"  answered  Dandruff,  in  a  surly 
tone.  "It  wasn't  the  right  man,  after  all;  an'  I  belave  you 
knowed  it,  too,  Andy  Burbeck!  Deil  take  you  for  a  sorry 
jester;  though  I  guess  you  're  more  knave  nor  fool.  It 
was  an  ornary  trick  to  set  us  on  the  wrong  trail.  If  I  were 
sure  you  meant  to  fool  us,  by  jiminy-king,  I'd — " 

"Not  quite  so  brash,  Davvy,  my  b'y!"  Andy  interrupted. 
"If  ye  open  your  mouth  a  mite  wider,  ye'll  put  your  foot 
intil  it,  and  the  butt  ind  of  my  rifle  along  with  it.  You  're 
no  great  shucks  as  a  bully  whan  your  betters  are  about 
What  for  would  A'  want  to  befool  ye?  Jist  be  raisonable 
an'  tell  me  if  ye  didn't  find  things  precisely  as  A'  telled 
ye?" 

"Well — yes!"  Davy  grudgingly  consented.  "We  caught 
our  man,  sure  enough,  1  hough  we  had  a  hard  run  for  it,  as 
he's  a  raygular  land  louper.  But  it  wasn't  Bill  Ormsby, 
drat  him,  though  enough  like  him  to  be  his  twin  brother 
til  ye  got  clost  til  him?  By  jiminy!  it's  no  wonder  you 
mistuck  him,  'athout  you'd  been  jist  anigh  him.  I  con- 
sated  that  we  had  the  right  man,  till  we  nabbed  him.  He 
waited  to  show  fight,  but  I  hit  him  a  slap,  an'  we  scrouged 
around  him,  and  he  jist  gave  in  quietly.  But  I  reckon 
we've  made  a  bad  boggle  of  it,  for  the  chap  was  a  messenger 
from  Giner'l  Bradford.  Leastwa}7s,  he  showed  us  a  letter 
signed  to  Major  Butler  at  Fort  Pitt,  which  he  said  was 
from  Giner'l  Bradford." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Andy,  his  curiosity  keenly  excited; 
"an'  didn't  ye  open  the  letter  to  make  sure?" 

"No;  we  had  a  min'  teh;  but  he  threaped  us  if  we  inter- 
fared  with  Giner'l  Bradford,  it  'ud  be  a  short  shrift  an'  hot 


THE   LATIMERS.  295 

shot  for  breakfast.    So  as  he  was  n't  our  man  annyhow,  we 
e'en  let  him  go  agin." 

"Well,  Davvy,  ye're  one  glocked  dunderhead,  to  be 
sure!  A'  misdoubt  ye  missed  the  chanct  to  git  greater 
glory  nor  the  spies  who  captured  Major  Andre.  Ay,  what's 
Bradford  a-doin'  correspondin'  with  Major  Butler? 
There's  some  treechery  afoot,  lads,  ye  may  depand  on  't;  an' 
that  ye'll  find  out  the  morrow.  It's  a  thousand  pities  ye 
didn't  kape  the  letter!  Well,  what  can't  be  cured  must  be 
endured.  Good-night,  lads,  or  rother  good-mornin'." 

"What  a  gawk  A'  was,"  he  exclaimed,  continuing  his 
monologue,  "not  to  go  along  with  them  lads!  My  certie! 
A'd  'a  seen  the  inside  o'  that  letter  whether  Major  Butler 
did  or  no.  But,  A'  consate  well  enough  what's  in  it.  11 
takes  no  prophet  to  foretell  Squire  Bradford's  projicks. 
Oh,  indade,  my  bonny  giner5!!  Ye've  charged  Luke  Lati- 
mer  an'  maself  with  a-tryin'  to  snake  intil  cover  an'  save 
our  hides,  whan  we  honestly  argied  not  to  assault  Fort 
Pitt.  An'  now  you've  sant  away  a  sacret  promise  of  the 
same  to  curry  favor  with  an'  cotton  to  the  Gover'ment!  Ye 
were  jist  r'adin'  our  lessons  out'n  your  own  copybook!  Eh! 
but  it's  a  true  sayin',  ivery  fox  smells  his  own  hole  first. 
Well,  Ormsby  must  be  safe  by  now,  annyhow,  an'  that's 
one  good  dade,  if  A'  niver  do  another.  So  A'll  e'en  away  til 
my  bivouac." 

He  had  scarcely  left  his  post  ere  Zedick  Wright  came 
up  and  assured  him  that  he  had  warmed  Ormsby,  who  had 
set  out  with  an  escort,  and  was  making  his  way  to  Pitts- 
burg  by  round-about  trails. 

Andy  told  his  friend  how  he  had  detained  the  crowd  of 
would-be  assassins,  and  sent  them  on  a  wild-goose  chase 
after  Tom  Hayes,  one  of  Bradford's  runners.  "The  two 
men  are  mortal  alike,"  quoth  Andy.  "An'  if  iver  Provi 
dence  had  a  hand  in  Bill  Ormsby's  affairs,  it  was  in  sendin' 
Tom  along  that  way  jist  when  he  did.  A'  saw  him  a-passin' 
a  spell  afore  Dandruff's  gang  come  up,  but  niver  consated 
what  he  was  up  teh.  It  was  a  lucky  thought  that  came  til 
me!  Good  bye,  Zedick;  ye've  done  one  good  day's  wark 
the  night,  an  ye  niver  do  anither."  As  he  marched  away 
to  his  camp,  he  looked  around  on  the  smouldering  fires, 
and  then  up  into  the  quiet  stars  twinkling  through  open 
ings  in  the  forest. 

"Ay,"  he  muttered,  falling  into  a  philosophic  mood, 


296  THE   LATIMERS. 

"'tis  aven  so!  The  fires  of  human  passion  and  ambition 
soon  burn  low  and  go  out  in  ashes.  But  the  Lord  holds  on 
steadfast  an'  glorious,,  like  the  stars.  Yet,  they  don't  seem 
to  be  troublin'  about  our  little  affairs  up  there,  judgin'  by 
the  calm  in  yon  skies.  Ay,  ay,  Dawvid,  ye  might  well  say, 
'what  is  man  that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him?'  It  looks 
mighty  like  He  didn't  mind  much,  whan  sich  Philistines 
as  Bradford  are  raised  to  the  throne.  But  wait  a  wee!  We 
may  come  to  a  turn  of  the  road,  by  an'  by,  and  there'll  be  a 
good  reddin'  up  then!  The  Lord  reigneth,  though  the 
deil's  own  do  seem  to  hold  the  sceptre  bewhiles.  Dave 
Bradford  is  on  the  top  of  the  ladder,  the  now; — cock  o'  the 
walk,  forsooth,  the  biggest  toad  in  the  puddle !  A'll  no  call 
that  the  Goodman's  doin',  but  quite  the  contrairy,  for  the 
deil  is  iver  good  til  his  own.  Leastways,  till  he's  got  'em 
fairly  hooked,  and  then — kerflop!  out  they  come  an' 
Sattan  has  'em  fine.  An'  Sattan  may  keep  Bradford  for 
all  me,  an'  welcome!  No  good  comes  o'  meddlin'  in  sich 
cases,  annyhow.  So  it's  hands  off,  says  I,  an'  the  deil  and 
Davie  Bradford  for  it." 

Thus  soliloquizing,  and  quite  unconscious  of  any  con 
fusion  in  his  views  of  Providence,  Andy  wrapped  himself 
in  his  blanket,  and  slept  quietly  until  dawn. 

The  next  morning  by  order  of  Gen.  Bradford,  represen 
tatives  from  the  military  organizations  assembled  in  grand 
council  to  determine  the  proper  course  to  pursue.  On  the 
outside  of  the  meeting,  which  was  held  in  the  open  forest, 
was  a  broad  circular  fringe  of  uninvited  militiamen.  These 
gentlemen,  while  they  neither  voted  nor  participated  in 
the  debates,  freely  expressed  their  opinions  on  the  matters 
proposed,  and  that  with  an  emphasis  which  was  intended 
to  influence  the  action  of  the  councillors. 

However,  the  zeal  for  aggressive  measures  had  nearly 
died  away.  There  was  little  talk  of  burning  "Sodom,"  the 
uncomplimentary  name  applied  to  Pittsburg.  The  plan 
to  attack  Fort  Pitt  had  vanished  like  the  dreams  of  the 
night.  Surly  murmurs,  and  passionate  outbreaks  of  turbu 
lent  spirits,  and  muttered  threats  and  discontent  might  still 
be  heard.  But  there  was  no  organized  centre  of  violence 
anywhere  among  the  thousands  of  men  on  Braddock's 
Field.  The  deliberations  of  the  council  were  limited  to  a 
formal  act  of  banishment  of  the  obnoxious  parties,  most 
of  whom  were  already  self-exiled  from  the  Survey,  and 
to  a  resolve  to  march  through  Pittsburg. 


THE    LATIMEKS.  297 

In  the  meanwhile,  Andy  Burbeck  and  several  others  had 
been  sent  to  inform  the  citizens  that  the  army  was  deter 
mined  to  march  into  town,  but  that  they  were  coming  in 
peace.  All  stores  and  taverns  were  required  to  be  shut,  and 
no  liquors  sold.  If  the  inhabitants  proffered  refreshments 
they  must  carry  them  to  the  place  where  the  troops  would 
halt  on  the  Commons,  in  order  to  prevent  the  disorganiza 
tion  of  the  army  and  the  dispersal  of  the  men.  This  news 
did  not  wholly  dissipate  but  greatly  relieved  the  panic  into 
which  the  citizens  had  fallen.  During  the  preceding  even 
ing  they  had  been  burying  or  hiding  their  household 
treasures,  books,  official  papers,  money,  and  such  other 
properties  as  could  thus  be  disposed  of.  Lights  were 
glancing  to  and  fro  in  the  village  streets,  and  shining  from 
the  windows  of  the  houses  late  into  the  night.  The  women 
were  in  tears,  and  the  children  excited  by  terror. 

The  good  news  brought  by  the  couriers  diverted  atten 
tion  to  the  entertaining  of  the  coming  guests.  Food  was- 
hastily  cooked,  and  barrels  of  whiskey  were  rolled  to  the 
Commons  to  serve  out  to  the  men.  Andy  Burbeck,  aided 
by  an  active  committee  of  watermen,  busied  himself  in 
gathering  all  the  river  craft  available,  at  a  convenient  place 
upon  the  river  bank,  ready  to  transfer  the  coming  troops 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  Monongahela.  These  prepara 
tions  had  scarcely  been  finished  when  the  head  of  the  col 
umn  appeared  led  by  Major-General  Bradford  and  his  staff. 
The  files  marched  in  good  order,  with  a  space  between  the 
battalions,  and  formed  a  column  about  two  and  a  half  miles 
long.  Many  of  the  troops  had  left  Braddock's  Field  for 
home,  declining  to  march  into  Pittsburg,  among  whom 
were  Luke  Latimer  and  his  wife;  but  five  or  six  thousand 
joined  in  the  entrance.  They  moved  through  town,  and 
halted  at  the  large  open  space  opposite  the  Maine  House. 

After  receiving  refreshments  from  the  citizens,  the  in 
fantry  embarked  in  the  boats,  while  the  mounted  men 
forded  the  river.  It  was  about  noon  when  they  entered 
Pittsburg,  and  by  sundown  the  whole  body  had  crossed  the 
river.  Strict  order  was  maintained  by  the  officers,  and  as 
the  evening  shadows  of  the  surrounding  hills  fell  upon 
fort  and  town,  the  citizens  retired  to  their  homes,  greatly 
relieved  and  deeply  thankful. 

Thus  ended  the  famous  gathering  of  the  Western  Insur 
gents  at  Braddock's  Field,  and  the  threatened  assault  upon 


298  THE    LATIMERS. 

Fort  Pitt  and  the  town  of  Pittsburg.  The  high-sounding 
boasts  and  threats  in  which  a  few  of  the  excited  militia  had 
indulged,  were  harmlessly  dissipated  by  the  simple  diver 
sions  of  a  night  or  two  in  camp,  and  by  contact  with  the 
great  mass  of  their  fellow  citizens  whose  sober  regard  for 
order  and  law,  and  fixed  hostility  to  violence,  restrained 
the  heat  of  those  who  were  disposed  to  riot.  The  whole 
army  peacefully  marched  through  the  village  streets, 
quietly  forded  the  Monongahela,  and  in  the  closing  hours 
of  that  August  Saturday  wended  their  ways  to  their  homes. 
When  the  Sabbath  morning  dawned  they  were  found, 
with  few  exceptions,  seated  within  the  calm  precincts  of 
their  own  houses,  or  solemnly  joining  in  the  service  of  God 
within  their  rude  log  sanctuaries.  That  an  armed  host  of 
such  proportions,  having  the  opportunity  to  enforce  its 
will  with  scarcely  a  show  of  successful  resistance,  should 
have  thus  dispersed  to  the  peaceful  vocations  of  life  with 
out  violence  or  even  disorder,  is  a  proof  not  easily  set  aside 
of  the  good  citizenship  of  the  men  who  composed  it. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

MORT  SHELDON  MAKES  A  PRESENT. 

John  Latimer  and  his  friends  held  a  council  as  to 
future  movements.  It  was  decided  that  Meg  and  Mad  Ann 
should  stay  with  John  at  their  present  camp,  until  the 
next  day  at  noon,  when  Mort  Sheldon  should  set  forth 
westward  to  strike  the  trail  of  Wayne's  army.  That  found, 
he  -should  send  report  of  their  whereabouts  to  headquar 
ters,  and  await  the  others  at  the  head  waters  of  the  Scioto 
River.  Finally,  that  McClellan  should  swing  around  the 
camp  to  determine  the  location  of  the  enemy,  and  report 
as  to  the  most  secure  route  to  the  appointed  rendezvous. 

This  settled,  a  rude  bower  of  leafy  bushes  was  quickly 
put  together  by  the  scouts  for  the  women.  The  ground 
beneath  was  spread  thickly  with  fallen  leaves,  upon  which 
a  blanket  was  laid.  Another  blanket  served  for  covering. 
Both  the  women  deemed  these  delicacies  superfluous.  In 
deed,  they  were  quite  as  able  to  "rough  it"  in  the  woods  as 
their  male  companions,  and  for  that  matter  were  as  well 


THE   LATIMEKS.  299 

used  thereto.  But  they  accepted  the  attentions  in  a  kindly 
spirit;  for  though  they  might  not  need  them,  they  per 
ceived  that  the  scouts  needed  to  give  them  as  due  to 
females,  and  to  preserve  their  own  self-respect. 

But  there  was  one  service  which  both  red  and  white  men 
willingly  resigned  to  women,  when  present  with  them, — 
the  preparation  of  meals.  This  Meg  undertook  with  loving 
eagerness,  although  the  wilderness  gave  little  scope  for 
skillful  hands.  To  begin  with,  however,  there  was  a  bed 
of  live  coals,  for  the  scouts  thought  it  safe  to  make  a  fire 
of  dry  wood  that  issued  little  smoke.  Then,  from  the 
stores  which  Mad  Ann  bore  within  her  saddle  bags,  Meg 
found  material  for  a  tasty  meal.  That  strange  creature, 
with  all  her  mannish  characteristics,  retained  so  much  of 
womanly  habits  as  to  carry  with  her,  on  her  good  horse 
Liverpool,  provisions  for  a  somewhat  more  homelike 
cuisine  than  scouts  were  wont  to  enjoy  when  on  the  trail. 
There  was  a  small  sack  of  Indian  meal,  and  a  batch  taken 
therefrom,  and  mixed  with  water  and  a  little  salt,  and 
baked  upon  clean  flat  stones  heated  in  the  glowing  coals, 
was  a  tempting  morsel  for  a  hungry  man,  known  in  those 
parts  as  "Johnny-cake." 

"We  shall  have  some  cup-o-tea,"  quoth  Meg,  in  her 
pretty  broken  English.  What!  in  that  wilderness,  guiltless 
of  pot  or  kettle  or  the  fragrant  plant  of  far  Cathay?  Yes, 
indeed;  for  Mrs.  Trotter  had  brought  a  goodly-sized  gourd; 
and  though  that  vessel  may  not  stand  the  touch  of  fire,  yet 
water  can  be  boiled  in  it.  That  you  may  see,  if  you  watch 
Meg  as  she  drops  hot  pebbles,  one  after  another,  into  the 
gourd  full  of  pure  brook  water,  until  it  steams  and  sizzles. 

And  has  Mad  Ann,  with  her  English  fondness  for  tea, 
brought  that  herb  into  the  woods? 

No;  but  there  is  a  sassafras  tree  near  by,  whose  root 
yields  an  aromatic  bark,  which  put  into  boiling  water 
makes  a  pleasant  drink  when  sweetened  well.  Is  there 
sweetening  here  in  the  forest?  Yes;  Mad  Ann  has  brought 
with  her  a  pouch  of  maple  sugar  within  its  water-tight  case 
of  deer's  bladder;  for  so  she  keeps  dry  both  salt  and  sugar. 

The  scouts  gave  forth  from  their  haversacks  chunks  of 
jerked  beef,  slices  from  which  are  bettered  much  by  warm 
ing  on  hot  stones,  or  by  toasting  over  hot  coals  by  Meg's 
cunning  fingers.  And  is  there  not  parched  corn?  What 
more  could  one  ask  for  a  feast  in  the  wilderness  than  fare 


300  THE    LATIMERS. 

like  this?  With  hunger  the  best  sauce,  and  merry  hearts 
and  good  consciences,  the  best  of  appetizers  and  sweet  aids 
to  digestion,  it  was  a  rare  meal  the  little  company  made 
at  that  noon  hour  under  the  wild-wood  trees. 

The  forest  banquet  done,  and  brief  adieus  spoken,  Mort 
Sheldon  set  forth.  Before  he  went,  he  begged  Meg  to 
favor  him  by  fastening  upon  his  hat  the  rosette  of  red, 
white  and  blue  which  he  always  wore  there,  but  which  in 
the  melee  of  the  last  few  days  had  been  dislodged.  There 
was  a  softened  look  in  his  black  eyes,  and  a  rosier  tinge  on 
his  tawny, cheeks  as  he  bowed  his  thanks,  and,  placing  his 
hat  on  his  shapely  head,  turned  his  comely  face  towards 
the  wilderness. 

"Good  bye,  Old  Tricolor!"  called  John,  as  he  swung 
away  with  his  long  lope.  "Good  bye,  and  good  luck!" 

"What  that?"  asked  Meg.  "You  told  Meg  white  brave 
is  called  Mort — Mort — " 

"Mort  Sheldon,"  said  John  carelessly.  "Or  to  be  exact, 
Morton  Sheldon." 

"Mor-to-shel-john?  Yes;  that  it!  So  you  tell  Meg." 
She  repeated  the  name  to  fix  it  in  her  memory.  "That  very 
good  name;  better'n  my  bad  Indian  father's,  Succohanos; 
or  my  Indian  brother,  Mach-a-chach.  I  like  sound  of 
Mor-to-shel-john,  for  my  brother  is  John,  too!  Ah,  dear 
John!"  She  laid  her  hands  within  his,  and  looked  into  his 
face  with  smiling  eyes.  "But  what  for  you  call  him  Ole- 
tri-col-or?  Is  that  a  new  war  name?" 

John  found  it  no  light  task  to  explain,  simple  as  the 
affair  appeared  to  his  own  mind.  But  Meg  at  last  seemed 
satisfied,  and  began  to  find  something  pleasant  in  the 
thought  that  the  scout  had  asked  her  to  mount  his  cockade. 
Yet  she  shook  her  head  doubtingly,  and  said: 

"Meg  see  now!  But  she  not  quite  understand  why 
warrior  wear  that?  Too  pretty  for  brave!  Good  for  squaw! 
Mor-to-shel-john  better  give  that  feather  to  Meg  or  Mad 
Ann!"  Then  she  gave  forth  a  musical,  merry  laugh  and 
added,  "Well,  it  better  nor  scalplock,  anyhow!" 

She  turned  in  the  direction  that  Sheldon  had  gone,  and 
her  keen  eyes,  trained  in  Indian  woodcraft,  noticed  some 
thing  that  made  them  open  wide  with  wonder.  On  the 
crest  of  a  distant  hill,  through  an  opening  in  the  woods, 
she  saw  in  the  sunlight  the  tall,  thin  form  of  the  scout. 
He  stood  bareheaded,  with  rifle  muzzle  leaning  within 


THE    LATIMERS.  301 

one  bent  elbow,  and  hat  in  his  hands.  His  face  was  bent 
downward.  He  was  gazing  intently  upon  his  rosette! 

"Can  it  be  his  totem?"  was  the  maiden's  first  thought. 
"Does  he  worship  it?" 

Then  she  saw  the  hat  raised — to  his  lips,  and  not  to  the 
head!  He  kissed  it,  then  turned  his  face  toward  the  camp 
and  gazed  steadfastly  through  the  woods  for  a  few 
moments.  Did  his  eyes  meet  Meg's  through  all  that  dis 
tance?  Impossible,  of  course!  But  just  then  the  maiden's 
face  dropped,  and  her  eyes  bent  towards  the  earth,  which 
she  softly  patted  with  her  moccasined  foot. 

"What  can  the  man  mean?  He  is  a  goodly  youth. 
But,  may  the  Manitou  be  merciful! — can  it  be  that?"  She 
tapped  her  forehead  significantly,  and,  with  a  sad  counte 
nance,  turned  away.  She  would  ask  Mad  Ann  about  it! 
But  the  maiden  thought  better  of  that,  and  walked 
down  to  the  brookside  and  sat  upon  a  boulder  near 
the  brink.  She  looked  at  her  image  reflected  from  the  sur 
face;  smoothed  back  her  hair;  gave  a  touch  here  and  there 
to  her  beaded  deerskin  frock.  Then  she  sat  long  and 
quietly  gazing  into  the  stream  as  it  glided  by,  and  idly 
plashed  the  while  with  one  hand  in  the  water. 

McClellan  returned  before  sundown  with  the  report  that 
no  sign  of  an  enemy  was  visible  near  them  to  the  north 
east.  As  Sheldon  did  not  return,  the  coast  was  clear  to 
wards  the  northwest.  Therefore,  a  peaceful  night's  rest 
was  before  them,  and  on  the  morrow  they  might  set  forth 
confidently.  Early  next  day  they  started,  and  pushed 
forward  rapidly.  Mrs.  Trotter  divided  with  Meg  the  use 
of  Liverpool,  or  sometimes  the  two  rode  together  on  the 
horse's  broad  back.  On  the  second  day,  they  struck  the 
trail  of  the  army,  and  knew  that  now  they  had  naught  to 
do  but  push  northward  until  they  overtook  the  troops. 

Their  next  evening  camp  was  disturbed  by  a  stirring 
incident.  McClellan,  who  had  taken  a  wide  circle  around 
the  camp  to  reconnoitre,  came  in  bringing  a  prisoner!  It 
was  Mort  Sheldon,  mounted  on  a  fine  sorrel  gelding  and 
leading  a  chestnut-bay  mare.  The  latter  was  bridled,  and 
backed  with  a  side-saddle  for  lady's  riding.  The  scout 
nodded  kindly  to  the  group,  who  were  supping  in  the  cool 
twilight;  then,  having  fed  and  cared  for  his  horses,  and 
hobbled  them  with  hickory  withes,  he  sat  down  to  eat  as 
coolly  as  if  he  had  been  gone  only  an  hour. 


302  THE   LATIMERS. 

Meg  was  too  well  disciplined  to  show  the  surprise 
which  she  felt,  but  she  cast  many  furtive  glances  at  the 
scout  as  she  served  him  with  the  simple  evening  fare.  The 
query  kept  coming  to  her  mind:  "What  could  the  man 
have  meant?"  That  question  still  puzzled  her.  "And 
what  does  he  mean  now  by  coming  thus?  That  seems 
strange  (her  thoughts  ran  on),  but  otherwise  he  shows  no 
mark  of  one  whose  mind  the  Great  Spirit  has  touched. 
At  least,  he  still  wears  the  rosette  upon  his  hat!  But, — 
two  horses  to  ride  therewith!  And  that  odd-looking 
saddle  which  the  bay  mare  wore!"  Her  eyes  wandered 
toward  the  group  of  picketed  animals.  Just  then  the  mare 
turned  her  head  and  looked  at  Meg,  and  gently  whinnied. 

"0  you  beauty!"  the  maiden  cried  in  her  heart,  and 
longed  to  run  and  put  her  arms  around  the  beast. 

"Hist!"  said  John.  "Some  one  is  coming!"  He  put  his 
ear  to  the  ground  and  listened.  "It  is  horsemen!  They 
are  coming  on  quickly.  To  shelter!"  In  a  moment  all 
were  treed,  and  with  rifles  in  hands  waited  anxiously  the 
issue.  Only  Mort  Sheldon  kept  his  seat,  quite  unmoved. 

"Strange!"  muttered  Meg.  "It  must  indeed  be  so!" 
Quite  unconsciously  she  touched  her  forehead.  McClellan, 
at  the  first  alarm,  had  glided  like  a  shadow  into  the  woods, 
and  soon  his  cheerful  halloo  came  to  them,  a  sign  that 
friends  not  foes  drew  near.  Presently  in  high  glee  he  gal 
loped  into  the  camp  astride  his  own  favorite  horse.  John 
and  Mad  Ann  greeted  him  with  cries  of  wonder,  and 
guesses  which  he  would  not  answer.  Even  Meg,  though  she 
did  not  quite  understand,  uttered  surprise.  Mort  Sheldon 
sat  munching  his  Johnny-cake,  taking  no  heed  at  all. 

Another  surprise  awaited  them.  In  a  few  moments, 
a  horseman  was  seen  approaching.  "An  Indian!"  cried 
Meg,  and  sprung  to  the  tree  where  her  rifle  stood.  It  was 
even  so;  and  John  Latimer  pushed  into  the  woods,  which 
had  now  grown  obscure  in  the  nightfall,  and  presently 
returned  riding  the  troop  horse  which  had  been  assigned 
him  when  he  joined  the  scouts,  and  followed  by  Panther. 

Now  Mort  Sheldon,  having  finished  his  supper,  deigned 
to  clear  up  the  mysteries.  Captain  Wells,  through  an 
Indian  runner,  had  got  an  inkling  of  the  danger  into  which 
his  scouts  had  fallen,  and  sent  a  squad  to  relieve  them,  lead 
ing  their  mounts  to  insure  quick  return.  The  relief  detail 
fell  in  with  Mort  Sheldon;  and  finding  that  all  was  well, 


THE   LATIMERS.  303 

hurried  back  to  rejoin  their  company,  but  sent  the  Mingo 
with  Sheldon  in  charge  of  the  led  horses.  Sheldon  made 
bold  to  claim  a  captured  horse  for  the  use  of  John  Lati- 
mer's  sister,  and  set  forth  with  Panther.  He  had  hurried 
forward  to  choose  a  place  for  bivouac,  leaving  the  Indian 
to  follow  his  trail.  But  one  of  the  horses  had  got  loose, 
and  Panther  was  delayed,  and  so  separated,  and  thus  the 
two  came  to  be  so  far  apart  when  McClellan  fell  in  with 
Mort.  In  a  wagon  train  of  supplies  slowly  dragging  after 
the  army,  whose  trail  he  had  crossed,  Sheldon  found  a  sut 
ler  or  camp  trader,  who  had  somewhere  picked  up  a  lady's 
saddle — a  rare  bit  of  luck  indeed.  This  he  bought  and 
placing  it  upon  his  own  mare,  mounted  the  extra  horse. 

Next  morning  the  camp  was  early  astir,  for  all  were 
eager  to  be  off.  Now  that  all  had  mounts,  they  \vould 
soon  overtake  the  army.  The  sniff  of  battle  was  in  the  air, 
and  the  scouts  were  seized  by  that  restlessness  which 
mightily  draws  men  toward  centres  of  combat.  Mad  Ann 
shared  the  feeling,  indeed  was  the  most  restless  of  all.  She 
shifted  from  place  to  place  without  apparent  reason,  now 
sitting,  now  standing,  now  walking  to  and  fro;  now  chatter 
ing  to  her  horse,  now  uneasily  handling  her  rifle  and 
pouch,  now  prodding  the  company  to  make  haste.  The 
hearty  cheerfulness  wrhich  was  her  usual  mood  was  over 
clouded.  Her  face  gathered  into  a  frown.  The  spirit  of 
vengeance  which  possessed  her,  seethed  within  her,  and 
would  have  no  rest  until  the  battle  was  over.  The  men 
knew  her  mood,  and  said  naught  to  cross  or  fret  her.  Meg, 
though  perplexed  thereat,  went  quietly  about  her  self- 
imposed  task  of  preparing  the  morning  meal. 

A  pleasant  surprise  awaited  her.  Mort  Sheldon,  wrho 
had  been  busy  caring  for  his  horses,  approached  the  camp, 
leading  the  bay  mare,  whose  bright  hide  fairly  shone  with 
the  loving  grooming  he  had  given  her.  She  was  bridled 
and  saddled,  and  carried  saddle  bags,  with  a  blanket 
strapped  behind,  and  holsters  at  the  pommel  with  horse  pis 
tols  therein.  Mort  led  the  mare  to  where  Meg  stood,  and 
greeted  her  with  a  pleasant  "Good  morning,  Miss  Latimer!" 

Meg  started.  She  knew  what  "Latimer"  meant;  but 
"Miss"  Latimer!  That  was  a  vagary  beyond  her  ken. 
Poor  Mor-to-shel-john!  She  must  not  mind  such  things 
from  him. 

Sheldon  noted  the  perplexed  look,  and  changed  his 


304  THE   LATIMERS. 

mode  of  address.  "Sunny  Hair  must  have  a  horse  to 
march  with  us,  and  reach  her  home  beyond  the  Ohio.  The 
Long  Loup  has  brought  her  his  own.  Sunny  Hair  saved 
the  lives  of  the  scouts.  They  will  not  forget  while  the 
grass  grows  and  water  runs.  But  they  want  to  give  some 
proof  of  their  gratitude.  See,  this  is  yours!"  He  placed 
the  bridle  in  her  hands,  and  stood  fondling  her  mane. 

"I  have  raised  her  from  a  colt,  and  know  her  well.  No 
one  has  ever  ridden  her  but  myself  and  my  farmer  who 
helped  to  train  her.  She  is  as  gentle  as  a  fawn  and  as 
swift.  Yet  she  is  strong,  and  holds  to  her  own  course  like 
the  sun  without  flagging  from  dawn  till  twilight.  You 
will  love  her  and  she  will  love  you, — won't  you,  Ladybird  ?" 
He  stroked  the  mare's  face  fondly,  then  laid  her  nose  in 
Meg's  palm,  which  had  been  outstretched  to  pat  the  noble 
creature.  "There,  Sunny  Hair,  the  mare  is  yours.  And 
Ladybird,  see  you  serve  your  mistress  well!" 

Meg  all  this  while  stood  struggling  with  the  emotions 
which  the  scout's  words  and  gift  had  evoked.  Her 
thoughts  ran  somewhat  in  this  order:  "Ah!  he  does  not 
speak  like  one  whose  mind  the  Manitou  has  touched.  His 
words  are  very  straight  and  sweet  to  the  ear.  *  *  * 
But  does  he  mean  to  give  me  the  beautiful  mare?  Could 
anyone  of  sound  mind  be  so  generous?  *  *  *  Unless, 
indeed,  he  were  a  great  and  rich  chief?  *  *  *  He  is 
surely  in  earnest;  he  means  this  for  me,  all  for  my  own. 
*  *  *  Ladybird!  What  a  pretty  name  for  the  beauti 
ful  mare!  Ah!  Ladybird,  are  you,  indeed,  my  own?" 

For  a  moment  she  could  not  speak,  but  leaned  her  face 
and  arms  against  the  mare's  shoulders,  who  bent  her  grace 
ful  neck  and  rubbed  her  nose  against  the  maiden's  arm,, 
and  softly  whinnied.  Such  kindly  speech  as  Sheldon's, 
and  such  tokens  of  respect  and  appreciation  were  so  new  to 
Meg,  that  her  emotion  got  the  better  of  her.  She  wept 
silent,  joy-born  tears  that  welled  up  gently  from  a  heart 
full  of  untroubled  gladness.  Then  she  lifted  her  face  and 
looked  into  the  bright  countenance  of  the  scout,  and  said: 

"Sunny  Hair  thanks  you!  Her  heart  is  full  of  the  song 
of  birds;  but  her  lips  are  dumb.  She  cannot  speak;  but 
while  stars  shine  and  flowers  bloom  she  will  remember 
Tri-col-or's  words.  Her  brother  John  will  speak  for  her. 
See !"  she  cried,  turning  to  John,  who  at  this  moment  ap 
proached.  "See  what  Mor-to-shel-john  has  given  me!  The 
beautiful  mare  is  for  me!  May  I  keep  her?" 


THE   LATIMERS.  305 

"I  don't  quite  take  it  in,"  said  John,  glancing  inquir 
ingly  at  Sheldon.  "What  is  this,  Mort?  Surely  Meg 
hasn't  understood  you.  You  don't  mean  to  give  her  Lady 
bird,  of  course;  only  to  loan  her  for  a  while?" 

Meg  dropped  her  hand  from  Ladybird's  head,  and 
turned  a  disappointed  face  towards  John. 

"Wall,  I  reckon  it's  all  right!"  Sheldon  answered,  in 
the  New  England  drawl  that  characterized  his  usual  utter 
ance.  It  seemed  the  speech  of  another  man,  so  different 
was  it  from  that  which  he  had  used  to  Meg.  "The  damsel 
has  made  no  mistake,  Johnny.  The  mare  is  her'n;  that  is, 
ef  she's  a  mind  to  take  it,  and  you  hain't  no  objection. 
Ladybird's  jest  the  nag  for  your  sister,  and  there's  nary 
another  besides  on  the  hull  frontier  that'll  suit  her  as  well, 
I  calkilate.  To  be  sure,  I  care  a  heap  for  the  mare,  and  she 
for  me.  But  yon  sorrel  geldin'  that  I  brought  in  for  Meg 
is  no  shucks  of  a  horso,  and  I  calkilate  '11  answer  my 
pu'pose  till  I  get  to  hum. 

"It's  jest  this  way,  John.  I've  been  thinkin'  a  right 
smart  of  how  your  sister  saved  our  lives,  and  that  we 
oughter  do  suthin'  to  show  it.  I've  talked  to  McClellan 
abeout  it.  He  hain't  much  of  an  overplus  of  this  world's 
goods,  you  know,  and  I've  a  good  farm,  well  stocked,  and 
nary  a  one  to  care  for,  or  to  care  for  me,  for  that  matter, 
nuther  kith  nor  kin,  chick  nor  child.  So  we  agreed  that  I 
might  do  the  proper  thing,  and  present  my  chestnut  mare 
to  Sunny  Hair.  Don't  say  another  word  abeout  it,  neow. 
Let  the  gial  have  her,  an'  welcome.  She'll  need  sech  a 
critter  to  get  her  safely  eout  this  dratted  Injun  kentry." 

So  saying,  he  walked  away,  tarrying  neither  for  assent 
nor  refusal,  and  thinking  only  to  avoid  their  thanks. 

John  looked  earnestly  at  Meg.  Meg  looked  inquiringly 
at  John.  John  thoughtfully  stroked  Ladybird's  flank. 
Meg  gently  patted  her  cheek. 

"What  does  my  sister  say?"  asked  John. 

"What  say  brother  John?"  asked  Meg. 

"Would  you  like  to  keep  Ladybird?"  John  asked. 

"Sunny  Hair  is  troubled,"  replied  Meg.  "Wrould  it  be 
right  to  take  this  gift  from  Tri-col-or?" 

"Well,  why  not?"  asked  John,  looking  keenly  at  Meg, 
who  had  paused  and  had  cast  down  her  eyes. 

She  looked  up  quickly,  and  tapped  her  forehead  with 
her  forefinger.  "What  make  Mor-to-shel-john  do  such 
20 


306  THE  LATIMEKS. 

heap  queer  things?  He  no  right  here;  hey?"  Her  eyes 
shot  keen  inquiry  into  her  brother's  face,  as  she  again 
touched  her  forehead.  "He  seem  to  Meg  some  not-right 
here.  The  Great  Spirit  care  for  him  much,  and  be  angry 
with  Meg  if  she  let  Tri-col-or  rob  himself.  That  no  good! 
That  no  fair!  Is  Meg  right?  No?"— 

John's  hearty  laugh  interrupted  her  speech.  As  he 
got  the  situation  more  fully  before  him,  its  grotesqueness 
grew  upon  him,  and  he  laughed  so  heartily  that  he  leaned 
against  Ladybird's  flanks  for  support. 

Meg,  the  while,  gazed  at  him,  with  a  face  like  an  April 
sky  over  which  sunshine  and  clouds  chase  one  another. 
Wonder,  inquiry,  anger,  gladness,  mortification,  quickly 
flitted  across  her  burning  cheeks,  and  showed  in  her  eyes, 
which  seemed  equally  on  the  verge  of  smiles  and  tears.  At 
last  John  controlled  his  mirth. 

"Forgive  me,  sister  dear!"  he  said.  "I  know  I  have 
offended  you;  but  really  I  could  not  help  it.  It  seems  so 
odd  that  you  should  take  Old  Tricolor  for  a  simpleton. 
Why,  lass,  his  is  one  of  the  soundest  heads  in  all  the 
border.  Yet,  I  ought  not  to  wonder  that  you  who  never 
knew  him  should  be  puzzled;  for  he  has  some  queer  streaks. 
But  what  started  you  on  that  trail?  Oh,  the  hat,  was  it? 
To  be  sure!  It  is  an  odd  fancy.  But  so  is  the  coon  tail 
that  McClellan  wears.  Ha,  ha!  What  would  the  boys  say 
if  they  knew  this?  And  what  would  Old  Tricolor  say?" 

"Oh,  John!  John!"  cried  Meg,  running  to  him  and  put 
ting  her  arms  around  him.  "You  no  tell  Mor-to-shel-john? 
You  no  tell  anybody  how  foolish  Meg  has  been!  That 
break  Meg's  heart.  She  die  for  shame.  She  never  look 
Tri-col-or  in  the  face  again.  An'  he  so  kind  to  poor  Meg! 
You  be  good  brother  John!  You  no  tell, — never!" 

"No,  indeed,  sweet  maid!"  said  John,  as  he  drew  her  to 
his  heart,  and  kissed  her.  "I  would  lose  my  tongue  ere  it 
should  wag  to  your  shame  or  sorrow.  Indeed,  I  could  not 
help  laughing.  Do  you  forgive  your  naughty  brother? 
But  about  Ladybird?  Will  you  keep  her,  now?" 

"May  I  keep  her,  now?" 

"Yes,  you  have  my  consent.    But  can  you  ride?" 

"Ha,  ha!  That  a  good  joke.  Can  the  swallow  fly? 
Can  the  mocking-bird  sing?  Can  the  fish  swim?"  While 
she  was  speaking,  she  unbuckled  the  girth,  and  lifting  off 
the  saddle  with  all  its  fixtures,  laid  it  on  the  ground.  Then 


THE   LATIMERS.  307 

she  spoke  some  caressing  words  to  Ladybird,  who  seemed 
quite  to  understand,  and  flinging  the  reins  on  her  neck, 
vaulted  upon  her  bare  back.  Then — dare  we  tell  it? — 
sitting  straddle-wise  like  a  man,  she  darted  away  through 
an  opening  in  the  woods  at  full  gallop.  A  quarter  mile 
dash  and  back  again  to  camp!  Then  she  flung  herself 
from  the  mare's  back  and  covered  her  face  with  caresses. 

"What  say  brother  John  now?  Can  Meg  ride?"  Her 
tinkling  laugh  gave  token  of  how  she  enjoyed  having 
turned  the  joke,  as  she  innocently  thought,  upon  John. 

The  scouts  looked  on  with  admiration;  and  Mad  Ann, 
well  pleased,  bade  all  hasten  the  march.  As  the  party 
prepared  to  move  off,  a  grave  question  presented  itself. 
Could  Meg  ride  side-saddle?  And  would  she?  Mad  Ann 
rode  man-wise,  why  not  Meg?  Yet  John,  and  in  his  own 
quiet  way  Mort  Sheldon  also,  expressed  the  wish  that  Meg 
should  follow  the  custom  of  white  women. 

Meg  shrugged  her  shoulders  prettily,  and  shook  her 
bright  brown  locks.  She  had  never  seen  a  side 
saddle  before;  but  when  its  use  was  explained  she 
laughingly  bade  them  help  her  into  it,  which  John  did. 
It  seemed  a  merry  play  to  the  maiden,  and  when  her  feet 
were  adjusted  to  the  stirrups,  she  set  off  gingerly,  not  being 
certain  of  her  seat.  But,  like  the  thorough  horsewoman 
that  she  was,  she  was  soon  at  home,  and  starting  Ladybird 
on  a  gallop,  raced  away  in  advance  of  the  party,  followed 
by  John. 

"How  do  you  like  it?"  he  asked. 

"It  a  little  clumsy,  now,"  she  answered.  "By-'n-by 
all  right,  maybe!  It  very  good  for  Meg's  little  legs, 
'tanyrate;  they  too  short  for  straddle,  like  man." 

"Well  done!"  said  John  laughing,  "and  well  said.  You 
are  quite  a  philosopher,  sister  mine;  though  I  daresay  you 
don't  know  what  that  means." 

"Oh  no,  Meg  don't  understand.  But  she  know  it's 
nothing  bad.  She  heard  brother  John  call  Mor-to-shel-- 
john  'flosopher,  too.  'Flosopher  some  one  who  has  beau 
tiful  bay  mare,  I  Aspect?" 

"Ay,"  said  John,  "and  gives  her  away!" 

"Then  Sunny  Hair  no  'flosopher!"  was  the  quick  reply, 
Meg  put  her  cheek  to  the  mare's  neck.  "She  never  give- 
Ladybird  away!  Xo! — not  even  to  brother  John.  But — 
he  no  need  her,  hey?  He  got  very  good  horse?" 


308  THE   LATIMERS. 

"Yes,  indeed,  Meg;  you  are  quite  right  there.  And  a 
far  better  one  when  we  get  home.  And  another  for  your 
self  too,  if  you  like." 

"Home,  home!  That  very  sweet  word!"  said  Sunny 
Hair  with  softened  tone  of  voice.  "Shawnees  have  no  word 
like  that.  Meg's  heart  is  eager  to  see  father  and  mother. 
Oh,  it  seem  to  her  she  can't  wait  till  battle  over.  Tell  her 
all  about  them.  'Tis  sweet  music  to  Sunny  Hair's  ears. 
Sweeter  than  sound  of  running  brook,  or  soft  wind  in  the 
summer  leaves,  or  meadow  lark  in  the  mellow  evening. 
Tell  me  the  tale  of  home,  dear  John,  of  dearest  home." 

And  then,  and  often  afterwards  till  the  end  came,  John 
must  tell  his  sister  the  story  of  which  she  never  wearied, 
the  story  of  dearest  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  FALLEN  TIMBEKS. 

We  follow  John  Latimer  and  his  party  into  the  camp 
of  Wayne's  Legion.  During  the  winter,  Gen.  Wayne  had 
remained  at  Greenville,  a  fort  built  by  him  on  the  Little 
Miami,  whence  he  raided  the  country  between  him  and  the 
Miami  villages.  He  regained  the  ground  of  St.  Glair's 
unfortunate  defeat,  and  built  there  a  fort,  which  he  called 
Fort  Recovery.  He  opened  negotiations  with  the  Indians, 
who  scanned  his  troops  and  equipments,  made  florid  prom 
ises,  but  dodged  his  overtures  for  treaties.  In  February 
(1794)  they  suddenly  threw  off  the  mask,  attacked  Wayne's 
outposts  at  Fort  Recovery  and  were  toiled.  Then  began 
a  rallying  of  the  tribes,  with  the  purpose  to  abide  the  brunt 
of  battle.  They  well  knew  that  on  the  issue  hung  their 
destiny;  and  two  thousand  warriors  assembled  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  the  British  fort  at  the  rapids  of  the  Miami. 

Wayne  had  been  reinforced  by  the  Governor  of  Ken 
tucky  with  a  division  of  fifteen  hundred  mountain  riflemen, 
in  two  brigades  under  Generals  Todd  and  Barbee,  com 
manded  by  Major-General  Scott.  Most  of  these  men  had 
experience  in  Indian  warfare.  United  to  the  Legion,  which 
comprised  two  thousand  regular  troops,  infantry,  cavalry 
and  artillery,  they  feit  confident  of  victory.  Late  in  July, 


THE    LATIMERS.  309 

Wayne  left  Greenville  and  moved  slowly  westward.  He 
kept  his  scouts  continually  circling  around  his  front  and 
flanks.  To  the  intelligence,  courage  and  unswerving  devo 
tion  of  these  trained  frontiersmen,  he  was  largely  indebted 
for  his  success.  It  was  they  who  won  for  him  the  Indian 
title  of  "General  All-eyes."  It  replaced  that  of  "General 
Chebang,"  meaning  "General  To-morrow,"  given  because 
the  wily  chieftain  was  ever  deferring  his  promised  gifts 
and  threatened  punishments,  until  his  unready  to-morrow 
should  become  the  to-day  of  thorough  readiness. 

On  August  19th  the  army  was  within  a  day's  march  of 
the  enemy's  position.  A  reclaimed  Indian  captive,  named 
Miller,  one  of  Captain  Wells's  scouts,  was  sent  forward  with 
the  last  offer  of  peace  and  friendship.  As  Miller  ap 
proached  the  Indian  camp,  the  warriors  beset  him  with 
fierce  yells,  and  cries  of  "kill  the  runaway!" 

"Ten  chiefs  and  warriors,"  said  Miller  in  their  own 
tongue,  "are  held  as  hostages  by  Gen.  Wayne  for  my  safety. 
Kill  me  and  they  will  hang  to  the  nearest  tree !" 

This  speech  calmed  the  tumult  and  stayed  the  threat 
ened  death  strokes,  and  the  messenger  delivered  his  offer 
of  friendship  and  peace.  A  long  conference  followed. 
Miller  was  detained  until  the  next  day,  and  then  sent  back 
to  Wayne  with  an  evasive  message,  intended  to  amuse  him 
until  they  could  plot  some  way  to  rescue  the  ten  hostages. 
The  scout  hastened  to  rejoin  the  army;  but  Gen.  Wayne 
had  not  waited  for  his  return.  Annoyed  at  the  delay,  he 
moved  upon  the  enemy. 

Major  Price,  with  a  select  battalion  of  mounted  vol 
unteers  and  scouts,  was  advanced  about  five  miles  in  front 
of  Wayne's  line,  with  orders  to  feel  the  enemy's  position, 
and  when  ascertained  fall  back  upon  the  main  body. 
McClellan,  Mort  Sheldon,  John  Latimer  and  Panther  were 
assigned  to  duty  with  these  skirmishers.  It  was  with  ill 
grace  that  Mad  Ann  Trotter  found  herself  left  out.  But 
the  orders  were  inexorable,  and  she  sulkily  withdrew  with 
Meg  to  the  left,  where  the  Kentucky  troops  were  stationed. 

The  skirmishers  cautiously  advanced,  keeping  videttes 
well  to  the  flanks  and  front,  until  noon.  Should  they 
dismount  to  bait  the  horses  and  take  their  lunch?  No! 
they  were  too  near  the  enemy.  The  commandant  would 
not  allow  his  men  to  risk  being  taken  even  at  that  disad 
vantage.  "But  (said  he)  let  the  column  be  halted  for  a  few 


310  THE   LATIMEKS. 

moments  at  this  runlet."  The  troops  had  just  begun  to 
explore  the  contents  of  their  pouches,  when  McClellan 
dashed  into  their  midst  and  announced  Indians  at  hand. 

"Attention!"  shouted  the  commandant.  The  volunteers 
wheeled  into  line,  and  awaited  the  order  to  advance. 

From  a  thickly-wooded  knoll  on  the  right  a  sharp  com 
mand  in  the  Indian  tongue  rang  out,  followed  by  a  heavy 
volley  of  rifles.  Then  the  air  was  rent  v:ith  war-whoops; 
and  from  behind  every  shrub  and  tree  issued  painted  sav 
ages,  until  the  forest  seemed  alive  with  them.  With  trailed 
rifles  and  swinging  tomahawks  the  Indian  vanguard  swept 
down  upon  the  skirmishers. 

Command  was  given  to  fall  back  slowly;  to  bring  with 
them  the  wounded  and  killed.,  if  practicable;  to  skirmish  in 
open  order  and  inflict  as  much  damage  as  possible;  but  not 
to  risk  battle,  as  the  enemy  was  evidently  in  force  before 
them.  The  volunteers  obeyed,  but  their  rifles  gave  quick 
and  fatal  answer  to  the  enemy's  volley.  Doggedly  con 
tending  every  step,  they  slowly  retired. 

"Call  in  the  videttes!"  ordered  Major  Price.  Those 
on  the  flanks  had  returned.  "What  of  those  in  the  front?" 

McClellan  shook  his  head;  and  clutching  his  rifle, 
shook  it  savagely  at  the  howling  foes.  "Darn  their  red 
hides!  The  foxy  varmints  let  'em  all  pass  'ithout  a  shot, 
knowin'  them  to  be  sure  enough  game  for  'em,  and  helt 
their  fire  till  the  troops  came  up.  It  was  jist  blind  luck 
that  I  got  through  to  report.  I  fear  it's  all  up  with  'em, 
Major.  An'  a  likelier  lot  nor  those  nine  men  never  fell 
into  savage  hands  Hark!  Do  you  hear  over  thar  to  the 
left,  ayont  their  line,  jist  ahint  yon  bluff,  that  patch  o' 
snappin'  shots?  That's  them!  I  know  the  bark  of  their 
rifles.  The  painted  divils  are  on  'em  like  ants  on  a  sugar 
lump.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  git  through!  But  I  fear  it's  no 
use  a-tryin';  the  odds  is  too  big.  Curse  the  luck!  Good 
Lord  deliver  'em,  seein'  thar's  nothin'  else  to  look  to." 

"Fall  back!"  called  Major  Price.  "I'm  sorry  enough  to 
leave  the  boys  to  their  fate.  But  the  interests  of  the  army 
demand  the  sacrifice.  Better  that  a  few  perish  than  all 
be  lost.  My  orders  are  imperative." 

McClellan  hung  to  the  rear  of  the  column,  and  some 
what  eased  his  mind  by  silencing  forever  the  war-cry  of  a 
gallant  but  venturesome  brave.  He  retreated  grudgingly, 
and  straggled  far  back,  eager  for  but  hopeless  of  a  dash  to 


THE   LATIMERS.  311 

rescue  his  comrades.  Suddenly  a  hearty  cheer  arose  from 
the  retiring  column,  which  opened  to  give  way  to  a  power 
ful  black  horse  and  a  fiery  bay  mare.,  whose  smoking  flanks 
gave  sign  of  fast  riding.  The  riders  were  Mad  Ann  and 
Meg  Latimer!  They  drew  up  before  Major  Price,  and  ere 
speech  could  be  made  to  him,  Meg's  eyes  caught  sight  of 
McClellan.  Urging  Ladybird  to  his  side,  she  asked: 
"Where's  John?" 

McClellan  briefly  told  the  sad  story. 

"Who  with  him?  Panther  there?  Tri-col-or,  too?" 
The  questions  fairly  snapped  in  sharp  staccato  from  the 
maiden's  pale  lips. 

McClellan  nodded.    "Yes,  and  six  good  men  besides." 

"Your  chief  goin?  to  save  them,  hey?  Make  grand 
rush? — drive  warriors  back? — bring  off  brave  scouts?" 

McClellan  shook  his  head  sorrowfully.  "No,  no,  poor 
girl.  The  Major  won't  give  the  order.  He  thinks  it 
wouldn't  do  anny  good,  and  all  our  lives  'ud  be  lost.  See! 
There  are  hundreds  of  them  red  fiends  afore  us, — " 

"What  say?"  interrupted  Meg.  Her  face  was  livid  with 
passion,  and  her  blue  eyes  burned  with  pain  and  wonder. 
"The  chief  no  try  to  save  John?  Shame!  Cowards!  Then 
Meg  go  alone,  and  die  with  him." 

She  laid  her  rifle  across  her  arm  (she  was  riding  no 
side-saddle  now),  shook  the  rein,  and  rode  at  full  gallop 
straight  upon  the  advancing  savages. 

"Here's  with  you,  then!"  shouted  McClellan,  and 
spurred  to  her  side. 

"Hurrah!  Charge  boys,  charge!"  cried  Mad  Ann.  She 
rose  in  her  saddle,  and  twirling  her  rifle,  gave  black  Liver 
pool  rein,  and  followed  McClellan. 

"Charge!  charge!  Save  the  scouts!"  The  cry  ran 
along  the  column.  Carried  away  by  one  of  those  impulses 
that  often  move  armed  men,  and  which  have  been  espe 
cially  noted  among  American  soldiers,  the  whole  battalion 
turned  and  without  orders  and  with  ringing  cheers  charged 
at  full  gallop  upon  their  foes.  Major  Price,  seeing  it  im 
possible  to  arrest  the  rushing  tide  of  frantic  valor,  joined 
therein,  with  high  mettle  resolved  to  die  with  his  men. 

This  sudden  charge  took  the  Indians  by  surprise. 
They  had  but  one  way  to  account  for  it;  the  whites  had 
been  reinforced!  The  irregular  line  in  which  they  had 
been  advancing  halted,  then  began  to  fall  back.  Some  one 


312  THE    LATIMEKS. 

raised  the  cry:  "Wayne!  Wayne  is  coming!"  That  name 
wrought  like  magic.  With  scarcely  an  attempt  at  resist 
ance,  the  whole  assaulting  column  broke,  fled,  and  melted 
into  the  surrounding  forest.  There  was  not  one  chance  in 
ten  thousand  that  such  a  result  would  have  followed.  But 
that  one  chance,  under  a  favoring  Providence,  prevailed 
that  day. 

"To  the  left!"  cried  McClellan,  keeping  his  place  close 
by  Meg,  Mad  Ann,  the  Millers  and  one  or  two  others. 

He  led  his  little  squad  around  a  swelling  bluff  on  the 
brookside.  A  scene  that  chilled  them  with  horror  and 
fired  them  with  wrath  lay  before  them.  Along  the  narrow 
tongue  of  bottom  land  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream, 
lay  a  straggling  windrow  of  dead  men,  whites  and  Indians 
intermingled,  lying  where  they  fell.  Close  against  the 
overhanging  front  of  the  rocky  bluff  which  they  had  just 
turned,  stood  one  white  man,  a  tall  scout,  fighting  single- 
handed  with  three  braves.  It  was  John  Latimer.  His  face 
and  clothes  were  covered  with  blood  from  a  wound  that 
furrowed  his  cheek.  His  hands  were  black  with  powder 
grime.  The  dead  body  of  Panther  lay  at  his  side.  Just 
before  him,  indeed,  the  combat  was  wrought  above  his 
prostrate  form,  lay  Mort  Sheldon.  The  combatants  were 
so  filled  with  the  high  rage  of  battle,  and  so  intent  on  their 
work  of  destruction,  that  they  had  noted  neither  the  fleeing 
savages  nor  the  charging  soldiers. 

Even  as  the  party  gazed,  one  warrior  fell  under  John's 
clubbed  rifle.  As  he  sank,  he  seized  the  piece  with  the 
rigor  of  death,  and  wrested  it  from  John's  hands,  leaving 
him  standing  there  before  his  foes  weaponless.  The  fore 
most  of  the  two  survivors  heaved  aloft  his  tomahawk,  and 
John  stood  with  uplifted  hand  to  arrest  the  stroke,  crouch 
ing  to  spring  forward  in  death  grapple. 

McClellan's  rifle  was  empty;  Meg's  had  just  been  dis 
charged.  Oh,  for  one  charge  of  powder  and  shot!  Just 
one!  Life,  life,  a  most  precious  life  hangs  thereon! 

Crack!  It  is  Mad  Ann's  rifle  that  speaks  sharply  forth, 
now,  and  her  rich  English  voice  that  cries:  "Tally  one, 
John  Latimer,  for  the  shootin'  match  at  Legionville !" 

The  upraised  tomahawk  descended,  but  in  wavering 
curve;  and  as  the  warrior  doubled  forward  and  fell  at 
John's  feet,  the  metal  rang  against  the  rock  beside  his 
head. 


THE   LATIMER8.  313 

This  sight,  and  the  outbreak  of  frantic  yells  that  now 
burst  from  the  advancing  whites,  startled  the  remaining 
warrior.  He  cast  one  look  upon  the  unexpected  vision  of 
rushing  horses  and  wild  shouting  foes  plunging  across  the 
brook.  He  paused,  with  axe  poised  in  act  of  striking,  then 
discharged  his  weapon  with  a  defiant  cry,  and  wheeled  and 
fled.  John  caught  the  whirling  tomahawk  and  recovering 
"rom  the  backset  of  the  blow,  returned  it,  but  vainly,  after 
the  fleeing  Indian,  and  fell  across  Sheldon's  body. 

It  was  Meg's  sharp  cry  of  pain  that  rose  above  the  beat 
of  horses'  hoofs  on  the  gravelly  turf,  for  the  cries  of  the 
rescuers  had  ceased.  It  was  Meg  who  first  reached  the 
scene  of  conflict,  and  flinging  herself  from  Ladybird's  back, 
bent  above  her  brother,  and  lifted  him  from  the  body  on 
which  he  lay,  and  kissed  his  grimy  bloody  face,  and 
moaned  with  the  pain  of  a  heart  well  nigh  breaking. 

"But  he  is  not  dead!"  she  cried.  "Quick,  water!  And 
the  Tri-col-or,  he  is  not  dead,  too?  0  God  of  the  white 
man,  spare  them!" 

Other  hands  were  helping,  now.  John  was  laid  in  an 
easier  position;  his  shirt  front  opened,  his  belt  unloosed, 
and  his  face  bathed  with  water  and  spirits.  Sheldon  was 
lifted  up,  and  laid  gently  down  upon  the  grass.  Mad  Ann, 
bending  her  ear  to  his  bosom,  listened  intently. 

How  could  Meg  spare  even  one  moment,  one  glance 
from  her  loving  ministry  to  her  brother,  to  note  this,  and 
ask  in  low,  eager,  trembling  tones:  "He  alive,  too?" 

"Yes!"  answered  Mad  Ann.  Her  gruff  voice  grew 
mellow  with  the  heartiness  of  her  joy,  as  she  spoke.  Meg 
had  already  bent  her  face  to  John's,  but  the  reply  sent  a 
warmer  tinge  to  her  cheek,  and  gave  a  glance  of  added 
brightness  to  her  eyes,  as  she  muttered,  "Thank  God!" 

Well,  indeed,  might  the  maid  thank  God.  But  if  ever 
these  two  fighting  men  live,  and  give  heed  to  the  matter 
at  all,  they  will  no  doubt  feel  bound  in  some  measure  also 
to  thank  the  brave,  good  maid  who  pricked  forward  to 
their  rescue,  and  carried  with  her  the  column  that  had  left 
them  to  die.  Nor  had  the  soldiers  any  scruples  to  admit 
the  same.  Their  gallant  ride  into  the  jaws  of  seeming 
death  was  known  among  them  as  "Meg's  Mad  Charge,"  a 
title  which  acknowledged  who  was  their  true  leader  in 
that  affair.  Yet  Meg  loyally  held  to  it  that  the  chief 
credit  of  the  matter  was  due  to  Mad  Ann,  who,  though 


314  THE   LATIMEES. 

banished  from  the  corps  of  skirmishers,  had  swung  loose 
from  the  left  flank  of  the  army,  and  pressing  through  the 
woods,  hovered  about  the  flank  of  Price's  battalion  in  ex 
pectation  of  a  fight. 

But  will  the  scouts  live?  John,  certainly.  His  swoon 
was  brief,  and  the  result  of  weakness  through  blood-let 
ting  and  high  fever  and  fierce  strain  of  heart,  and  mighty 
exertion,  and  hopelessness  thereof,  in  the  short  but  terrific 
battle  against  such  odds.  He  was  thrice  wounded,  though 
he  knew  it  not,  for  in  contests  of  men  the  rapt  mind  rises 
superior  to  fleshly  pain.  He  had  bullet  wounds  in  the 
fleshy  part  of  his  left  arm  and  thigh,  and  one  upon  his 
cheek.  His  hurts  were  not  serious,  and  under  the  crude 
but  not  unskillful  surgery  of  Meg  and  Mad  Ann,  he  was  ere 
long  able  to  mount  an  empty  saddle  (for  his  own  horse 
was  slain),  and  ride  away. 

With  Mort  Sheldon  it  fared  worse.  He  had  got  several 
body  wounds,  but  his  serious  hurt  was  a  blow  upon  the 
head,  which  brought  a  stupor  from  which  he  was  slow  to 
arouse.  Mad  Ann  bathed  his  pallid  face  with  spirits,  and 
chafed  his  hands  with  the  same,  and  drop  by  drop  forced 
the  cordial  into  his  lips.  But  he  would  not  revive.  Once, 
indeed,  his  lips  moved. 

"'Ark!"  said  Mad  Ann; ""he  seems  to  speak.  'E  's 
comin'  around!"  She  bent  her  ear  to  his  lips. 

"What  says  he?"  asked  McClellan. 

Ann  made  no  answer;  but  her  face  turned  involuntarily 
towards  Meg,  who,  at  the  words  spoken,  had  raised  her  face 
and  looked  that  way.  As  the  two  pairs  of  eyes  met,  there 
was  something  passed  from  Mrs.  Trotter's  soul  to  the 
querying  spirit  beyond  her,  that,  explain  it  how  you  may, 
gave  a  signal  of  the  truth,  and  raised  a  tell-tale  flush  upon 
the  maiden's  cheek,  and  caused  the  eyes  to  droop  with  a 
not  unkindly  light  in  them.  The  single  word  that  Sheldon 
whispered  was  "Sunny  Hair."  Then  he  relapsed  into 
unconsciousness.  A  swinging  stretcher  was  made  out  of  a 
pair  of  strong  blankets,  on  which  he  was  placed,  and  car 
ried  by  four  horsemen  as  the  column  fell  back  toward  the 
van  of  the  army.  This  was  soon  met,  and  the  wounded 
man  placed  in  the  surgeon's  care. 

John,  when  he  heard  that  Wayne's  Legion  was  in  sight, 
refused  to  go  to  the  rear  until  his  friend  and  Indian  father, 
Panther,  was  fitly  buried.  His  rifle,  the  coveted  prize  of 


THE   LATIMERS.  315 

Legionville,  and  his  pouch,  knife  and  tomahawk,  and  other 
little  belongings  were  gathered  together  to  carry  away  to 
Featherfoot.  Then  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff  where  he*  fell 
'they  dug  for  him  a  grave,  and  John  held  it  no  shame  to 
drop  tears  of  true  mourning,  as  he  was  silently  committed 
to  the  ground.  Out  of  respect  to  the  religious  feelings  of 
the  Indian,  a  rifle  recovered  from  the  enemy  and  other 
weapons  were  placed  in  the  grave,  that  the  gallant  warrior 
might  not  lack  suitable  equipment  when  his  spirit  reached 
the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds. 

"May  God  have  mercy  on  his  soul!"  said  John,  as  the 
clay  fell  upon  the  green  boughs  of  hemlock  which,  with 
reverent  sentiment,  they  had  laid  upon  Panther's  face  and 
form,  to  soften  the  rude  contact  of  the  clods.  "A  braver 
man,  a  nobier,  truer  soul,  a  firmer  friend  never  slept  on 
or  under  forest  mould.  Thrice  to-day  his  rifle  saved  my 
life.  He  might  have  saved  his  own  life  by  flight,  but  chose 
to  die  for  his  friends  and  at  their  side,  in  the  path  of  duty. 
He  knew  little  of  the  Eedeemer  of  men,  though  he  rever 
enced  and  never  profaned  His  sacred  name,  as  white  men 
do.  Pagan  or  not,  he  walked  according  to  his  light  more 
honestly  than  many  Christians  I  have  known.  Farewell, 
beloved  and  honored  teacher  and  friend!  Farewell,  com 
panion  and  friend  of  my  father!  In  the  Happy  Hunting 
Ground  with  the  good  of  thy  people,  or  in  the  white  men's 
Heaven,  we  shall  meet  again.  Farewell!" 

Like  offices  of  burial,  kindly,  sincere,  ay,  and  reverent, 
though  of  necessity  they  must  be  brief,  were  given  the  fal 
len  white  scouts.  Then  the  two  women  and  the  burial 
detail,  led  by  McClellan,  slowly  withdrew.  That  evening 
John  jotted  down  the  day's  events  in  his  journal,  and  once 
more  wrote,  as  on  the  evening  that  Meg  was  found,  the 
text — "Let  the  redeemed  of  the  Lord  say  so,  whom  He 
hath  redeemed  out  of  the  hand  of  the  enemy." 

Now  befell  the  wonted  preliminaries  of  impending 
battle.  For  awhile  there  was  great  noise  and  bustle,  and 
seeming  confusion  of  marching  men  and  wheeling  squad 
rons;  and  trampling  and  snorting  of  horses;  and  rumble  of 
artillery  as  batteries  were  dragged  to  their  places;  and 
shoutings  of  the  captains'  orders,  and  blare  of  trumpets, 
and  roll  of  drums.  Then  there  fell  a  great  silence,  as  with 
the  elements  of  Heaven  when  a  yeasting  storm  is  about 
to  break  with  thunder  crash,  and  beat  and  rattle  of  rain 
fall,  and  swish  of  rushing  wind. 


316  THE   LATIMEKS. 

Now  all  was  set  in  order  as  the  commander-in-chief  had 
planned.  The  hush  in  the  waiting  ranks  was  broken  by 
the  artillery  feeling  the  enemy,  preparatory  to  the  bayonet 
charge  which  Gen.  Wayne  had  ordered.  The  Indians  had 
chosen  their  position  with  much  military  judgment.  The 
ground  for  many  miles  around  was  covered  with  a  heavy 
forest  growth,  which  greatly  impeded  the  movements  of 
the  cavalry  and  artillery.  Their  troops  were  drawn  up  in 
three  parallel  lines,  having  the  river  directly  on  their  left. 
In  front  was  a  thick  wood  in  which  an  immense  number 
of  trees  had  been  blown  down  by  one  of  those  western 
cyclones  with  whose  ravages,  in  these  days,  we  are  unhap 
pily  familiar.  These  prostrate  trees  were  piled  one  upon 
another,  and  their  branches  interlocked,  forming  a  natural 
and  formidable  breastwork,  or  "slashing"  to  use  a  word 
in  vogue  during  the  war  of  the  sixties.  It  was  this  which 
gave  to  the  battlefield  the  name  of  "Fallen  Timbers." 
Along  this  broad  windrow  of  overthrown  trees  the  Indians' 
battle  line  stretched  for  more  than  two  miles. 

Wayne  had  formed  his  Legion  of  regulars  in  the  centre 
of  his  line.  His  right  was  covered  by  the  river,  on  which 
rested  the  enemy's  left.  General  Scott's  division  of 
mounted  volunteers  occupied  the  left.  The  regular  cavalry 
was  formed  in  the  rear  and  on  the  right.  Now  the  Ken- 
tuckians  were  ordered  to  swing  around  and  attack  the 
Indians'  right  flank,  while  the  regular  cavalry  moved  up 
under  cover  to  attack  the  left  flank.  The  Legion  of  regular 
infantry,  facing  the  fallen  timbers,  had  orders  to  wait  until 
the  above  movements  were  completed.  Then,  at  a  signal, 
they  would  charge  at  double  quick  without  firing  a  shot; 
arouse  their  enemy  from  their  covert  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet,  deliver  their  fire,  and  press  upon  the  foe  so  closely 
as  to  prevent  reloading  of  rifles. 

When  the  allotted  time  had  passed  for  the  forces  threat 
ening  the  flanks  to  get  to  their  posts;  and  the  centre  of  the 
Indian  line,  disturbed  and  weakened  thereby,  invited  a 
successful  assault,  Wayne  gave  the  order  to  charge.  The 
perilous  movement  was  made  under  his  own  eye.  The 
Legion  sprang  to  their  work  with  hearty  cheers.  Undis 
turbed  by  the  terrific  volleys  poured  upon  them  from  the 
trunks  and  branches  of  the  fallen  trees,  they  overleaped 
the  barriers,  and  closed  in  a  hand-to-hand  combat  with  the 


THE   LATIMEKS.  317 

The  Indians  were  startled  up  from  their  breastworks. 
As  they  fell  back,  the  regulars  delivered  their  reserve  fire. 
The  retreat  became  a  flight.  For  two  miles  the  Legion  pur 
sued;  and  so  rapid  was  the  advance,  and  so  precipitate  the 
retreat,  that  only  a  part  of  the  flanking  columns  had  an 
active  share  in  the  battle.  The  routed  Indians  were  pur 
sued  under  the  guns  of  the  British  Fort  Campbell,  which 
the  enraged  Kentucky  troops  could  hardly  be  kept  back 
from  storming.  The  surrounding  Indian  villages  and 
camps  were  destroyed,  and  stores  consumed. 

This  done,  in  order  to  hold  the  Indians  in  check,  Wayne 
built  a  fort,  at  the  junction  of  the  Auglaize  and  Maumee 
Rivers  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Indian  country,  which  he 
happily  named  Fort  Defiance.  This  was  connected  with 
Fort  Washington  at  Cincinnati  by  a  chain  of  fortified 
posts,  and  the  defeated  tribes  thus  threatened  soon  sued 
for  peace.  The  northern  and  southern  tribes,  who  had 
already  prepared  for  hostilities,  abandoned  their  warlike 
plans  and  renewed  their  friendly  attitude.  The  treaty  of 
Greenville  that  followed  brought  a  peace  that  was  never 
afterwards  seriously  disturbed. 

The  battle  of  Fallen  Timbers,  though  little  more  than  a 
heavy  skirmish,  as  estimated  by  the  loss  on  both  sides,  was 
one  of  the  most  decisive  battles  of  America.  It  settled 
the  destiny  of  the  great  middle-western  range  of  States, 
which,  thus  opened  to  peaceful  occupation,  soon  became  the 
Eldorado  of  thousands  of  white  settlers,  who  made  their 
wilderness  places  blossom  as  the  rose. 

Upon  the  interests  and  destiny  of  those  with  whom  this 
story  is  especially  concerned,  the  victory  had  an  important 
bearing.  With  Wayne's  successful  Legion  on  the  West, 
and  Washington's  army  of  suppression  advancing  from  the 
East,  the  insurrectionists  of  Western  Pennsylvania  were 
placed  between  an  upper  and  nether  millstone,  and  the 
friends  of  law  were  proportionately  strengthened. 

The  victory  won,  John  Latimer  was  eager  to  hasten 
home  with  Meg,  and  readily  got  released  from  duty.  In 
deed,  the  special  work  of  the  scouts  was  finished,  and  most 
of  them  were  discharged.  Mad  Ann,  McClellan  and  several 
others,  including  Aleck  Bailey  and  McDonald,  formed 
with  John  a  caravan  or  travelling  party,  and  set  out  for 
Pennsylvania  across  the  Ohio  territory.  Wayne's  name 
had  so  terrorized  the  Indian  tribes  through  whose  bounda- 


318  THE    LATIMERS. 

ries  they  passed,  that  the  journey  was  made  securely,  and 
therefore  rapidly.  Mort  Sheldon,  though  now  recovering, 
was  still  in  the  surgeon's  hands,  and  was  left  behind,  to 
follow  as  soon  as  his  wounds  would  permit. 

At  the  close  of  a  sultry  day  in  the  first  week  of  Sep 
tember,  John  and  Meg  Latimer,  riding  side  by  side,  halted 
on  the  summit  overlooking  the  little  village  of  Canonsburg. 

"Yonder  is  home!"  said  John,  pointing  to  the  Latimer 
cabin  embowered  in  its  grove  of  sugar  maples.  "See!  the 
smoke  is  curling  above  the  clapboard  roof,  and  you  may 
know  that  mother  is  preparing  the  evening  meal." 

"Do  you  think  she  expects  us?"  asked  Meg. 

"I  do  not  know,  though  I  have  written  several  letters. 
I  am  sure  I  hope  so.  But  on  the  border,  and  especially  in 
war  times,  messages  come  slowly,  and  often  don't  come  at 
all.  All  my  letters  may  have  miscarried,  and  may  come  in 
a  bunch,  as  I  have  known  them  to  do,  after  I  get  home 
myself.  I  have  not  heard  a  word  from  father  since  I  left, 
and  you  know  how  anxious  I  have  been  about  him.  Ah! 
look  there,  Meg!  Note  that  man  walking  towards  the 
house.  Do  you  make  him  out?  His  arm  is  in  a  sling. 
That  is  father!  Thank  God!  he  is  about  once  more!" 

Meg  leaned  forward  from  the  saddle  (she  was  riding 
lady-wise  now),  and  shielding  her  eyes  with  her  hand, 
gazed  across  Ladybird's  neck  until  Luke  Latimer  disap 
peared  from  view  within  the  cabin  door.  Then  she  sighed 
deeply.  Tears  welled  in  droplets  from  beneath  her  long 
dark  eye  lashes,  and  twinkled  there  a  moment  in  the  set 
ting  sun.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed  from  the  rapid  cours 
ing  of  her  blood,  driven  by  a  heart  that  throbbed  and 
throbbed  till  it  seemed  to  her  that  John  must  hear  it  beat. 

"Come!"  she  cried.  "Come  away,  John  dear!  Meg 
canot  wait  any  longer."  She  touched  Ladybird,  and  the 
spirited  mare,  her  high  mettle  unquenched  even  by  her 
long  march,  started  into  a  gallop.  John  following,  the 
two  were  soon  riding  at  full  speed  down  the  hill. 

Now,  Luke  Latimer  coming  into  the  house,  had  paused 
beside  the  cabin  door;  and,  as  it  so  happened,  looked  across 
toward  the  Washington  road  whence  often  travellers  came. 
He  descried  the  two  riders  on  the  hilltop  just  as  they 
plunged  down  the  slope.  Wondering  thereat,  he  watched 
the  clouds  of  dust  that  rolled  up  behind  the  fast  flying 
horses,  and  which,  as  there  was  a  following  wind,  partly 
concealed  them. 


THE   LATIMEES.  319 

"See  yon,  Polly!"  said  Luke.  "Someone  is  in  a  mighty 
hurry.  It's  some  messenger,  I'll  be  bound,  on  the  way  til 
Fort  Pitt.  Nobody  would  push  horseflesh  that  a-way  on 
sich  a  sultry  day  as  this,  onless  important  business  urged." 

Polly  came  to  the  door,  and,  standing  by  her  husband, 
watched  the  coming  dust  cloud.  "Can  it  be  som'mat  about 
the  axcise  trouble?"  she  said.  "Good  Lord  forefend! 
Maybe  it's  news  from  the  army.  Heaven  send  it  be  so! 
Niver  a  ward  have  we  h'ard  since  the  lad  left;  and  it's  not 
like  John  to  neglec'  us." 

"Ay,  lass,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  John  has  sartainly 
written.  But  there  are  no  posts  throughout  that  wilder 
ness;  an'  private  messengers  are  aye  tardy  an'  unsartain, 
as  in  the  days  of  Solomon.  But  I  reckon  you've  guessed 
aright.  The  riders  look  like  army  folk.  One  of  'em  is 
surely  a  soldier.  The  other — I  can't  make  out,  but — " 

Just  then  a  turn  in  the  road  brought  the  wind  quarter 
ing,  which  sweeping  the  dust  away  left  the  figures  in  full 
view. 

"Yes,  my  crackies!    One  of  'em  is  a  woman!" 

"So  it  is!"  exclaimed  Polly.  "An'  see  how  she  rides! 
But,  can  it  be  news  from  John?" 

"Well!"  answered  Luke,  "we  '11  soon  know  now,  if  they 
kape  that  rattlin'  pace  very  long." 

Thus  the  couple  stood  together  at  the  picket  gate  in 
the  yard,  whither  their  curiosity  and  anxiety  had  urged 
them,  and  awaited  the  approaching  strangers.  Now  the 
riders  are  lost  to  sight,  and  only  the  gray  cap  of  dust  cloud 
shows  above  the  treetops.  Now  they  sweep  into  view 
again.  See!  They  have  come  to  the  opening  of  Luke's 
lane,  which  leads  into  the  main  road.  They  turn  into  it! 

"My  heart!"  cried  Mrs.  Latimer,  putting  her  hand  to 
her  heart  to  quiet  the  spasms  of  fear.  "They  are  comin' 
here.  Oh!  Luke,  can  aught  have  happened  John?" 

Silently  husband  and  wife  stood  together  and  looked. 
The  thud  of  beating  horse  hoofs  sounded  dully  on  the 
grassy  pathway  of  the  lane.  The  dust  cloud  blew  on  up 
the  road  and  faded  away. 

"Polly!"  cried  Luke,  leaping  forward.    "It  is  John!" 

In  a  moment  the  riders  had  halted  at  the  gate;  John 
had  flung  himself  from  his  horse,  and  was  clasped  in  the 
arms  of  his  parents. 

Poor  Meg!   She  sat  upon  her  smoking  steed,  her  cheeks 


320  THE   LATIMEES. 

flushed  with  exertion  showing  circlets  of  bright  red  set  in 
the  midst  of  pallor  which  deep  emotion  had  drawn  around 
lips  and  eyes.  Was  this  the  welcome  home  which  she  had 
so  longed  for,  so  eagerly  dreamed  of?  Not  one  word,  not 
one  look  for  her!  All  for  John! 

But  Mrs.  Polly,  at  least,  had  given  one  thought  to  her. 
In  the  few  moments  that  had  elapsed  after  recognizing 
John,  her  eyes  had  taken  in  the  form  of  his  companion. 
Like  a  flash,  a  thought  had  come  to  her, — nor  was  it  so 
strange  as  you  may  think, — concerning  this  female  com 
panion  who  rode  at  his  side  with  such  familiar  com- 
radery.  Lifting  her  weeping  face  from  the  young  man's 
shoulder,  she  uttered  her  thought  in  a  whisper. 

"John,"  she  asked,  "is  she — your — wife?" 

"Mother!"  exclaimed  John,  holding  her  from  him  with 
both  hands;  "have  you  not  heard?" 

"Not  a  ward,  John! — not  one  wared  since  you  left." 

A  cry  from  Luke  Latimer  startled  both.  With  a  strong 
instinct  of  courtesy,  he  had  turned  from  John  toward  the 
stranger  maid,  to  give  greeting  and  welcome.  Something 
in  her  appearance  arrested  him.  He  made  one  step  toward 
her,  and  then  paused,  and  gazed  intently  upon  the  maiden, 
who  in  turn  looked  into  his  face  with  eager  anticipation. 

"Polly!"  cried  Luke,  pointing  towards  Meg,  "Look! 
It's  yourself!  It's  yourself,  as  you  were  three  an'  thirty 
years  agone!" 

The  man  was  trembling  with  the  intensity  of  his  emo 
tions.  This  vision  of  his  early  love,  materialized  before 
him  in  the  form  of  the  stranger  maid,  had  sent  a  thrill 
into  his  soul,  whose  keenness  came  from  a  hope,  almost  a 
certainty  of  the  truth.  Could  it  be  his  long  lost  child? 

The  look,  the  cry  so  moved  Meg  that  she  could  forbear 
no  longer.  Leaping  from  the  saddle  with  one  glad  word — 
"Father!"  she  flung  herself  upon  Luke's  breast,  who  put 
his  unwounded  arm  around  her,  and  the  two  wept 
together. 

Mrs.  Latimer  stood  gazing  into  John's  face  to  read  the 
truth  therein.  She  had  not  taken  close  heed  to  Meg's 
appearance.  Even  the  glance  she  sent  in  answer  to  Luke's 
cry  gave  her  little  clue;  for  she  could  not  discern  the  strik 
ing  likeness  of  her  former  self  which  had  impressed  and 
persuaded  her  husband,  for  we  are  dull  to  note  our 
children's  resemblance  to  ourselves,  though  others  see  it 


THE   LATIMEES.  321 

plainly.  Moreover,  that  first  thought  hobbled  her  judg 
ment  with  withes  of  prejudice  as  yet  unbroken.  So  there 
she  stood  trembling,  and  searching  John's  face.  That 
look  needed  no  verbal  interpretation.  John  understood. 

"Yes,  mother,  it  is  Meg!" 

"Oh,  my  child!  my  child!7'  One  glad  cry,  and  then 
wit] i  upthrown  hands,  the  strong  woman  sank,  and  would 
have  fallen  to  the  ground  had  not  John  supported  her. 

"Mother!"  It  is  the  sweetest  word  that  human  lips 
speak.  With  unspeakable  joy  Meg  uttered  it,  as  she  flew 
from  her  father's  bosom.  But  it  fell  on  unheeding  ears. 

Meg's  first  filial  act  was  to  help  John  carry  her  mother's 
unconscious  form  into  the  cabin.  Then  when  the  brief 
swoon  had  overpassed,  mother  and  daughter  wept  together 
tears  of  peace  and  joy,  in  sweetest  exercise  of  love  whose 
strength  was  all  the  greater  because  for  so  many  years  ii; 
had  been  ungratified.  Like  the  bud  of  the  century  plant, 
long  held  in  abeyance,  it  had  blossomed  in  a  night.  But 
it  never  lost  its  beauty  and  fragrance.  Thenceforward, 
mother  and  daughter  were  bound  together  in  a  com 
panionship  that  no  cloud  overshadowed,  until  the  Great 
Last  Shadow  of  the  Valley  of  Shadows  fell  between  them. 

Let  us  close  that  cabin  home,  and  leave  its  happy  in 
mates  with  their  new  found  joy.  For  that  night,  alone, 
the  badge  of  frontier  hospitality  shall  be  withdrawn,  and 
the  latch  string  shall  not  hang  out.  To-morrow  the  vil 
lage  and  countryside  shall  ring  with  the  glad  tidings  of  the 
lost  which  was  found. 


21 


322  THE    LATIMERS. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

PROM  THE  CREST  OF  THE  WAVE  TO  THE  TROUGH  OF 

THE  SEA. 

The  public  passions  throughout  the  Western  Survey 
had  moved  forward  with  a  rapidity  which  seemed  startling 
to  John  Latimer.  His  absence  had  hindered  him  from 
following  their  daily  progress,  and  thus  keeping  even  step 
with  the  changes  wrought  around  him.  Some  of  these 
we  shall  need  to  note.  The  muster  at  Braddock's  Field 
had  been  followed  by  outbreaks  of  violence  in  various  parts 
of  the  country.  Huzzas  for  "Tom  the  Tinker"  formed  the 
shibboleth  of  the  party  of  violence.  It  was  taken  for 
granted  that  the  excise  laws  had  been  abolished  by  the 
direct  act  of  the  people,  whose  sovereignty  was  deemed 
complete.  Whatever  looked  to  the  contrary  was  held  as  a 
defiance  of  the  public  authority. 

Nevertheless,  the  more  reflecting  and  intelligent  were 
quietly  thinking  themselves  away  from  the  platform  of  the 
leaders  of  the  anti-excise  movement.  They  observed  in  all 
these  affairs  a  strong  tendency  to  anarchy,  against  which 
their  law-abiding  instincts  and  convictions  were  at  once 
arrayed.  These  inward  protests  at  last  took  the  form  of 
a  quiet  organization  in  opposition.  This  had  tangible 
expression  in  the  election  held  for  township  delegates  to 
the  Western  Counties'  Convention,  which  had  been  called 
by  the  Mingo  Creek  meeting  to  convene  at  Parkinson's 
Ferry,  August  14,  1794. 

Meanwhile,  news  of  the  fight  at  Bower  Hill  and  the 
muster  at  Braddock's  Field  had  reached  Philadelphia,  then 
the  seat  of  government  of  the  United  States,  and  of  the 
State  of  Pennsylvania.  President  Washington  summoned 
his  Cabinet,  and  it  was  resolved:  First:  To  call  out  the 
militia  under  the  constitutional  authority  to  suppress 
armed  combinations  to  defeat  the  revenue  laws  too  power 
ful  to  be  controlled  by  civil  officers.  Second:  To  send 
Commissioners  to  the  disturbed  districts,  to  represent  both 
the  Federal  and  State  Government,  and  endeavor  to  bring 
about  a  pacific  submission  to  the  laws.  August  17th  the 
President  issued  his  proclamation,  announcing  his  pur- 


THE   LATIMEES.  323 

pose  to  call  out  the  militia,  and  citing  the  offenses  that  led 
thereto.  He  commanded  all  the  insurgents  and  opposers 
of  the  law  to  disperse,  and  retire  peaceably  to  their  respec 
tive  abodes,  and  warned  all  persons  whatsoever  against 
aiding,  abetting  and  comforting  the  perpetrators  of  the 
aforesaid  treasonable  acts.  On  the  same  day,  he  made 
requisition  upon  the  Governors  of  Pennsylvania,  New 
Jersey,  Maryland  and  Virginia  for  twelve  thousand  men, 
afterwards  increased  to  fifteen  thousand,  to  be  organized 
and  held  in  readiness  to  march  at  a  moment's  warning. 

News  of  these  affairs  came  westward  by  post,  by  private 
express,  and  by  travelling  merchant,  pack  horsemen  and 
wagoners,  then  the  current  venders  of  public  news.  The 
people  of  the  Western  Survey  were  thus  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  decision — "submission  or  civil  war."  The 
seriousness  of  their  position  was  forced  upon  all  who  were 
capable  of  serious  reflection.  The  silent  reserve  of  steady, 
law-abiding  citizens,  who  in  our  republic  are  usually  an 
inactive  majority,  drew  closer  to  one  another,  shook  off 
their  civil  lethargy  and  prepared  to  take  control  of  affairs. 
A  few  of  the  better  conditioned  who  felt  that  they  were 
committed  beyond  recall,  together  with  those  who  had  no 
interest  in  communal  stability,  and  such  as,  like  sea  foam, 
ride  only  on  the  crest  of  tumults,  clung  to  Bradford,  Mar 
shall  and  the  other  leaders  of  the  revolt.  Yet  even  those 
men  were  profoundly  shaken  in  their  confidence  of  success 
and  almost  persuaded  to  abandon  the  struggle. 

In  this  state  of  affairs  the  Convention  of  the  "Western 
Counties  assembled  at  Parkinson's  Ferry,  now  Mononga- 
hela  City.  Two  delegates  from  every  township  had  been 
elected,  amounting  in  all  to  two  hundred  and  twenty-six, 
representing  Allegheny,  Washington,  Fayette,  Westmore 
land  and  Bedford  Counties,  and  Ohio  County  in  Virginia. 

The  Convention  was  held  in  an  open  field  on  the  banks 
of  the  river,  just  above  the  old  ferry.  It  was,  indeed,  a 
primitive  hall  of  congress,  but  the  interests  and  in  a  meas 
ure  the  destiny  of  a  nation  were  determined  therein. 
Fallen  timber  and  stumps  of  trees  served  for  seats,  while  a 
few  shade  trees  which  the  forester's  axe  had  spared,  spread 
their  canopy  above.  Surrounding  the  Convention  and 
forming  a  "gallery,"  as  it  was  quaintly  called,  were  many 
spectators.  They  were  drawn  largely  from  the  near  neigh- 


324  THE   LATIMEKS. 

borhood,  which  as  Mingo  Creek  Meeting-house  was  but  a 
few  miles  away,  were  nearly  all  participants  in  the  late 
disturbances.  Nevertheless,  the  proceedings  were  fully 
controlled  by  Messrs.  Brackenridge  and  Edgar  and  other 
friends  of  order,  who  on  this  occasion  were  supported  by 
the  exertions  of  Albert  Gallatin. 

Bradford  and  Marshall  had  come  provided  with 
resolutions  that  looked  towards  a  formal  organization 
to  call  forth  the  resources  of  the  country,  and 
"to  repel  any  hostile  attempt  against  the  rights  of  the 
citizens  or  the  body  of  the  people."  These  frontier 
agitators  knew  well,  as  did  also  their  opponents,  that 
life  invariably  expresses  itself  in  organisms,  and  that 
no  permanent  and  effective  life,  in  any  sphere,  can  be  sup 
ported  without  organization.  Chaos  has  in  it  the  poten 
tiality  of  life  or  death.  Chaos  continued  ends  in  death. 
Chaos,  touched  by  a  vital  factor  that  has  force  within  it  to 
attract  and  organize  its  elements,  has  at  least  promise  of 
endurance.  Along  this  line,  in  that  open  court  of  the 
people  on  the  banks  of  the  Monongahela,  the  friends  of  the 
armed  insurgents  fought  and  lost  their  contention.  The 
upshot  of  the  Convention  was,  that  a  Standing  Committee 
of  sixty  was  raised  from  the  township  delegates.  These 
again  were  asked  to  appoint  a  Committee  of  Twelve,  taken 
from  the  several  counties,  to  meet  and  confer  with  the 
Government  Commissioners,  and  report  to  the  Standing 
Committee.  Thus  the  purpose  and  propositions  for  organ 
ized  and  armed  insurrection  were,  by  a  deft  and  almost 
unobserved  evolution,  transformed  into  a  harmless  provis 
ion  for  conference  with  a  committee  sent  to  settle  the 
troubles  and  tender  terms  of  amnesty.  Moreover,  the 
weight  of  responsibility  was  shifted  from  a  large  body, 
sensitive  and  responsive  to  the  popular  passions,  to  a  small 
committee  in  which  the  counties  least  disturbed  had  equal 
representation  with  those  most  infected.  Further,  the 
final  decision  was  deferred  to  a  later  day,  when  the  heat  of 
passion  should  be  cooled,  and  the  friends  of  order  should 
have  regained  confidence. 

The  Government  Commissioners  reached  Western 
Pennsylvania  while  the  County  Convention  was  in  session 
at  Parkinson's  Ferry.  They  were  instructed  to  communi 
cate  at  once  with  this  body,  but  deemed  it  safe  or  at  least 
judicious,  on  account  of  the  inflamed  state  of  the  country 


THE   LATIMEES.  325 

which  infected  many  of  the  deputies,  not  to  present  them 
selves.  They  repaired  to  Pittsburg,  and  there  met  the 
Committee  of  Twelve  on  the  20th  and  21st  of  August. 
The  United  States  Commissioners  were  Wm.  Bradford, 
Attorney  General  during  Washington's  administration; 
James  Ross,  United  States  Senator  from  Pennsylvania,  and 
Joseph  Yates,  Associate  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Pennsylvania.  The  Pennsylvania  State  Commissioners 
were  Chief  Justice  Thomas  McKean  and  Wm.  Irvine,  a 
Representative  in  the  United  States  Congress. 

This  Conference  Committee  proposed  substantially 
that  the  Standing  Committee  of  the  Counties'  Convention 
should,  on  or  before  September  1st,  declare  their  deter 
mination  to  submit  to  the  laws  of  the  United  States,  in 
cluding  the  revenue  laws;  that  they  recommend  to  their 
constituents  acquiescence  in  the  same;  and  finally  that  the 
Convention  take  measures  to  poll  the  people  on  or  before 
September  14th,  and  thus  secure  a  public  assurance  as 
above.  In  the  above  case,  the  Commissioners,  on  their 
part,  would  pledge  the  Government  of  the  United  States 
that  all  prosecutions  for  treason  and  other  indictable 
offenses  should  be  deferred  until  July  16,  1795.  Further, 
that  if  on  that  date  there  should  be  a  general  and  sincere 
acquiescence  in  the  execution  of  the  laws,  a  general  pardon 
and  oblivion  of  all  offenses  would  be  granted,  except  to 
those  who,  in  the  interval,  should  attempt  to  obstruct  the 
execution  of  the  laws. 

These  terms  were  approved  by  the  conferrees  of  the 
people,  and  the  United  States7  Commissioners  gave  assur 
ance  that  the  movements  of  the  army  would  be  suspended 
until  further  information.  The  report  of  this  action  was 
drafted  by  Mr.  Brackenridge.  It  was  submitted  to  the 
Standing  Committee  at  a  meeting  held  on  the  28th  and 
29th  of  August,  in  Brownsville,  then  known  as  Redstone 
Old  Fort,  a  small  village  in  Fayette  County  on  the  Monon- 
gahela  River.  Here  was  fought  the  last  battle  of  the 
Western  insurrectionists.  Messrs.  Gallatin  and  Bracken- 
ridge  supported  the  report  looking  to  submission  with 
great  force  and  eloquence. 

On  the  other  hand,  David  Bradford,  contrary  to  his 
engagement  when  before  the  United  States'  Commis 
sioners,  vehemently  opposed  the  report.  With  violent 
declamation  he  declared  in  favor  of  war,  and  in  boasting 


326  THE    LATIMERS. 

harangue  raised  the  standard  of  insurrection.  He 
sought  by  his  own  heat  to  rekindle  the  flame  of  the  violent. 
But  it  was  only  the  last  flickering  glow  of  an  expiring  fire. 

A  secret  ballot  was  ordered,  and  the  vote  was  thirty- 
four  yeas  and  twenty-three  nays!  The  voice  of  reason  had 
prevailed.  This  result  was  plainly  unexpected  by  the 
insurgent  party.  Bradford  was  appalled.  He  knew 
better  than  any  other  man  that  his  rod  of  leadership 
was  broken.  He  left  the  place  immediately  upon  the 
announcement  of  the  vote,  overwhelmed  with  mortification, 
wounded  pride,  and  disappointed  ambition.  Pressed  with 
anxiety  as  to  the  future  he  returned  to  his  fine  new  Wash 
ington  house,  and  was  one  of  the  first  to  take  the  benefit 
of  the  amnesty  by  subscribing  the  form  of  submission. 

Had  the  Standing  Committee  here  ceased  its  work,  the 
Western  Insurrection  would  then  and  there  have  ended, 
suppressed  by  the  power  of  the  people  themselves,  -by  mere 
force  of  wise  and  patriotic  self-control,  unaided  either  by 
civil  or  military  process.  But  unhappily  the  proposition 
was  made  to  choose  a  new  Committee  of  Conference  to 
meet  the  Government  Commissioners.  It  was  hoped  that 
some  modification  of  the  terms,  or  prolongation  of  the 
time  prescribed  for  formal  submission  might  be  obtained 
by  a  little  further  negotiation. 

The  former  conferrees  (the  Committee  of  Twelve)  felt 
themselves  foreclosed  by  a  sense  of  propriety  from  oppos 
ing  this  motion,  and  no  doubt  wearied  of  their  thankless 
post,  were  pleased  to  withdraw  honorably.  Never  was 
there  a  more  unfortunate  illustration  of  the  proverb  at 
tributed  to  Abraham  Lincoln,  "it  is  unwise  to  swap  horses 
when  crossing  a  stream."  The  change  of  the  Committee 
of  Conference,  and  the  blundering  efforts  of  their  suc 
cessors,  were  taken  by  the  United  States'  Commissioners 
as  a  proof  of  the  want  of  unanimity,  of  a  leaning  toward 
rebellion,  and  of  unwillingness  to  yield  to  the  just  and 
temperate  conditions  offered  by  them.  They  accordingly 
reported  to  Washington  recommending  that  the  army 
cross  the  mountains  and  give  support  by  its  presence  to  the 
friends  of  law  and  order. 

This  view  was  strengthened  by  the  result  of  the  pri 
mary  election  held  early  in  September.  The  test  proposed 
by  the  Commissioners  was  to  be  subscribed  within  six  days 
by  every  elector  in  the  presence  of  two  members  of  the 


THE   LATIMERS.  327 

Standing  Committee  or  of  a  Justice  of  the  Peace.  Of  the 
votes  cast,  five  hundred  and  eighty  were  for  submission 
and  two  hundred  and  eighty  against.  The  Commissioners 
instead  of  counting  the  absentees  with  the  majority,  re 
garded  the  scant  vote  and  the  considerable  number  of 
recusants  as  additional  proof  that  a  sullen  temper  pervaded 
the  Survey,  which  only  the  presence  of  the  military  could 
effectually  curb.  In  point  of  fact,  however,  the  strength  of 
the  insurrection  was  already  quelled.  Public  opposition  to 
the  excise  laws  had  ceased,  and  the  Border  was  freer  from 
disorder  than  any  of  our  modern  frontier  settlements. 

On  the  17th  of  September  a  call  was  issued  to  the 
original  delegates  to  the  Western  Counties7  Convention, 
that  had  met  at  Parkinson's  Ferry  on  August  14th,  to 
meet  again  at  the  same  place  on  October  2d,  to  consider  the 
situation.  This  body,  without  any  opposition,  gave  assur 
ance  of  submission  in  the  very  words  required  by  the 
United  States'  Commission.  They  unanimously  expressed 
the  opinion  that  the  withholding  of  signatures  was  not 
owing  to  any  existing  disposition  to  oppose  the  laws,  but 
to  lack  of  time  and  information  on  the  part  of  some,  and, 
with  the  greater  number,  a  consciousness  of  having  had 
no  concern  in  any  outbreak,  and  the  idea  that  their  signa 
ture  would  imply  a  sense  of  guilt.  In  addition,  Wm. 
Findley,  a  Eepresentative  of  Congress,  and  David  Eeddick 
were  appointed  Deputies  to  the  President,  to  give  assurance 
of  submission,  and  to  explain  circumstantially  the  state  of 
the  country,  that  he  might  judge  therefrom  whether  an 
armed  force  would  be  necessary  to  support  civil  authority 
in  the  Western  counties. 

At  this  meeting  David  Bradford  was  present.  But  who 
would  have  recognized  in  this  crestfallen  suppliant  for 
peace,  the  bedecked  and  pompous  hero,  the  inflated  and 
boastful  dictator  of  Braddock's  Field?  In  six  weeks  the 
rapid  revolution  of  events  had  brought  him  from  the  crest 
of  the  wave  to  the  trough  of  the  sea. 

No  spark  of  opposition  glowed  in  glade  or  hill  in  all 
the  Western  Survey.  Yet,  the  Federal  Commissioners 
thought  it  necessary  to  march  an  army  into  these  scattered 
mountain  settlements  to  help  enforce  the  laws.  To  enforce 
the  law^s!  Though  the  District  Court  was  peacefully  issu 
ing  bills  of  indictment,  and  Sheriff  Hamilton  had  offered 
with  twenty  men  to  arrest  any  man  or  set  of  men  in  any 
or  all  of  the  Western  counties  on  legal  process. 


328  THE   LATIMEKS. 

CHAPTER    XXXV. 

THE   TESTING   OF   THE   PEOPLE. 

The  week  of  John  Latimer's  arrival  from  "Wayne's  army 
was  one  of  stirring  interest  and  excitement.  Canonsburg 
and  the  surrounding  country,  indeed  the  whole  Western 
Survey,  were  in  a  state  of  ferment  over  the  pending  elec 
tion.  To  submit  or  not  to  submit,  was  the  question  which 
agitated  every  voter.  As  Washington  County  had  been  the 
tidal  centre  of  the  insurrectionary  movement,  John  found 
himself  in  the  midst  of  a  boiling  surf  of  varied  passions. 

Luke  Latimer's  wounds  had  healed  but  slowly.  This 
was  owing  partly  to  their  serious  character;  largely  to  the 
exposure  and  physical  strain  of  the  Braddock's  Field  excur 
sion,  but  much  also  to  mental  agitation.  His  soul  was  the 
arena  of  a  conflict  of  emotions  to  which  he  had  heretofore 
been  a  stranger.  His  passions  had  always  been  direct  and 
simple;  quickly  rising  and  quickly  falling,  like  a  spring 
freshet;  and  like  it,  also,  clearing  away  all  rubbish  in  the 
channel,  leaving  the  stream  to  flow  more  peacefully. 

These  complex  and  contending  feelings  that  now 
stirred  within  him,  whence  had  they  come?  He  had 
heard  of  such,  but  had  not  suspected  himself  to  be  subject 
to  them.  He  was  not  used  to  such  tug  and  strain,  such 
rushing  and  fury  of  the  inward  man;  and  his  strong  frame 
shook  thereunder.  The  conflict  stayed  Nature's  kindly 
offices  in  knitting  and  healing  the  wounded  parts,  and 
burned  up  his  vital  energies.  His  strength  waned,  al 
though  he  kept  going  about  the  house  and  grounds.  His 
cheeks  grew  thin,  his  eyes  sunken,  until  his  wife  became 
anxious  as  to  the  outcome  of  it  all. 

Yet  she  forbore  remark  or  question.  Even  her  pity  was 
given  no  vent  in  words,  for  she  knew  that  comment  and 
uttered  sympathy  would  only  fret  him  more.  He  must 
fight  the  battle  alone.  He  would  have  it  so;  in  such  strug 
gles  of  spirit  and  to  the  wounds  thereof,  silence  is  the 
unguent  that  best  can  lay  the  tossing  passions,  and  the 
kindliest  balm  that  friendly  hands  can  apply. 

The  wounded  pride  of  a  deplumed  leader;  disappoint 
ment  over  cherished  plans;  mortification  at  failures  that 


THE    LATIMEKS.  329  ' 

might  have  been  foreseen;  the  sense  of  folly  forced  upon 
him  for  unwise  methods;  anger  and  shame  at  the  thought 
that  he  had  been  gulled  and  made  a  tool  of  by  David 
Bradford, — these  almost  maddened  him.  Even  more  than 
this  was  the  thought  that  would  rush  upon  him  ever  and 
anon,  that  if  he  had  done  thus  and  so  the  issue  might  have 
been,  ay,  surely  would  have  been  different! 

Moreover,  Luke  Latimer  was  thoroughly  honest  in  his 
opposition  to  the  excise  laws  and  their  execution.  From 
the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  believed  he  was  right;  that  he 
stood  for  a  just  and  humane  cause;  for  the  rights  and 
liberties  of  the  people.  It  was  bitter,  indeed,  to  give  up 
such  a  contention.  He  had  persuaded  friends  to  his  views. 
and  his  just  and  kind  nature  was  concerned  for  the  conse 
quences  to  them.  Then, — how  the  thought  nipped  him! — 
what  would  the  issue  be  in  his  own  case?  He  was  oi;e  of 
the  leaders.  Could  he  hope  to  escape  punishment?  He 
cared  little  for  that  personally;  but  his  family?  And  the 
disgrace  thereof?  And  the  loss  of  his  property! 

The  offer  of  amnesty  by  the  Federal  Commissioners 
seemed  to  open  a  door  to  his  friends.  Should  he  advise 
them  to  accept?  Would  he  himself  sign  the  submission 
papers  and  make  his  peace?  Would  it  be  honorable  to  do 
so?  Could  he  as  a  leader  hope  to  go  scot-free?  There  he 
paused,  and  the  struggle  began  anew,  working  around  the 
same  circle  of  disappointment,  wounded  pride,  perplexity 
of  mind  and  heart,  conflict  between  political  convictions 
and  natural  affections  and  the  demands  of  honorable 
friendship. 

The  coming  of  Meg  for  a  time  diverted  his  thoughts 
from  public  affairs.  For  a  few  days  he  went  about  so  full 
of  joy  and  peace,  that  he  seemed  to  be  walking  upon  the 
clouds.  His  eye  grew  brighter;  his  step  was  lighter.  Mrs. 
Polly  noted  with  gladness  that  his  appetite  was  better,  and 
his  cheeks  began  to  fill  up.  But  as  the  llth  of  September 
approached,  and  the  public  excitement  arose  to  a  high 
pitch,  Luke  was  again  caught  in  the  swirl  and  fury  raging 
around  him.  He  must  decide.  He  must  act.  And  now, 
here  was  Meg  to  think  about, — poor  helpless  child,  his  lost 
Sunny  Hair,  whom  God  had  given  back  to  him!  Who 
would  fend  for  her?  For  her  sake — yes,  for  her  sake — 

He  walked  up  the  hill  to  George  McCormack's  store. 
In  many  parts  of  America  the  village  store  is  now,  as  it 


330  THE   LATIMEHS. 

then  was,  the  daily  rendezvous  of  all  the  masculine  gossips 
in  the  country-side,  the  rural  paradise  of  both  chronic  and 
occasional  loafers.  There  they  perch  upon  the  counter, 
and  straddle  over  the  stools,  and  sit  along  the  single  wall- 
bench  like  fowls  upon  a  roost,  and  with  strident  voices 
asseverate  and  dogmatize  on  questions  political,  theological, 
financial  and  social. 

Luke  Latimer  found  a  little  knot  of  neighbors  gathered 
to  discuss  current  events.  He  was  welcomed  to  the  circle, 
and  out  of  respect  to  his  wound,  honored  with  one  of  the 
two  chairs  which  the  log  edifice  boasted.  He  was  not  a 
frequent  visitor  to  this  conclave  of  village  Solons  for  which 
he  had  neither  taste  nor  time;  but  he  had  a  purpose  in  com 
ing  now,  and  would  await  his  opportunity. 

"We  were  jist  discussin'  the  Commissioners'  test,"  said 
McCormack,  by  way  of  explanation.  He  spoke  from  that 
country  merchant's  throne,  the  stool  behind  the  rude  desk 
which  rested  on  the  end  of  the  counter  next  the  window. 

"Are  you  goin'  fer  til  sign?"  asked  Luke  calmly. 

"Na!"  was  the  positive  and  emphatic  response. 

There  was  silence.  Luke  who  had  lit  his  pipe  slowly 
puffed  out  a  column  of  smoke  and  again  inquired:  "I 
reckon  you'd  advise  the  rest  of  us  to  sign,  wouldn't  you?" 

'"Na-a!"  The  answer  was  the  same,  but  a  little  more 
explosive  and  prolonged. 

Another  lull,  another  puff  of  smoke,  another  question: 
"Don't  you  tLink  the  Government  Commissioners  have 
made  things  purty  aisy  for  us,  considerin'  all  things?" 

"NA-A-AA!"  The  increased  volume  of  sound  and  pro 
longation  of  the  vowel,  in  the  thrice-repeated  monosyllable, 
was  the  merchant's  only  method  of  expressing  the  positive, 
comparative  and  superlative  degree  of  his  dissent.  But  it 
needed  neither  addition  nor  interpretation. 

"A've  had  ma  full  of  sich  doin's  in  the  auld  country,"  he 
crTed.  "What  led  to  all  the  risin's  in  Ireland?  What 
brought  out  the  Whiteboys,  the  Oakboys,  the  Steelboys 
and  tLe  United  Irishmen,  but  the  tie-rannical  and  ineequi- 
tous  test  oath,  and  sich  like,  that  the  English  crown  im 
posed  upon  us?  A'  thought  A'  was  a-comin'  til  a  land  of 
liberty;  but  it  looks  mighty  like  we'd  jumped  out  of  the 
fryin'  pan  intil  the  fire.  What's  all  thim  papers,  now," 
pointing  to  one  of  the  blank  forms  of  submission  posted 
against  the  store  door,  "but  jist  a  test?  Test!  A  test  of 


THE   LATIMERS.  331 

loyalty  they  calls  it.  ISTa-a!  A've  had  enough  of  tests,  and 
sorry  a  one  'ill  A'  iver  sign  agin." 

"Hear!  hear!    That's  the  talk!"  cried  the  village  Solons. 

"Ah?"  said  Luke  Latimer  interrogatively. 

"There  you  go,  neighbor!"  said  Andy  Burbeck. 
"Comin'  out  the  same  hole  you  wint  in  at!  A  tist? 
Humph!  give  a  dog  a  bad  name  an'  hang  him.  Anything 
with  the  name  of  tist  '11  have  a  bitter  taste  to  our  folk. 
They  say  a  rose  by  anny  other  name  'uld,  smell  as  swate. 
That's  r'asonable,  but  contrairy  to  axperi'nce.  We  're  vic 
tims  of  eemagination  in  half  the  affairs  of  life,  A'm 
a-thinkin'.  For  axample:  Suppose  you  'd  call  a  rose  a 
skunk  cabbage,  who  'd  want  to  give  a  nosegay  til  his  lady 
love?  Now,  if  astead  o'  callin'  that  paper  by  sich  an  ornary 
name  as  'test'  they  'd  'a  christened  it  'covenant,'  it  'ud  'a 
gone  down  aisier  nor  a  glass  o'  grog.  For  we  Scotch-Irish 
Presbyterians  have  a  likin'  to  that  name,  in  kindly  memory 
of  old  Scotland's  League  an'  Covenant." 

"Come,  come,  Andy!"  said  McCormack.  "That's  jist 
a  bit  of  your  balderdash,  and  well  you  know  it." 

"Well,  let's  read  the  paper,  and  see  how  it  goes." 
Thereupon  Andy  walked  up  to  the  door,  which  served  as 
a  general  bulletin  board  for  public  notices,  and  read:  "I 
do  promise  to  submit  to  the  laws  of  the  United  States; 
that  I  will  not  directly  or  indirectly  oppose  the  execution 
of  acts  for  raising  revenue  on  distilled  spirits  and  stills,  and 
that  I  will  support  as  far  as  the  law  requires,  the  civil 
authority  in  affording  protection  due  to  all  officers  and 
other  citizens." 

"There  it  is,  gintlemin!  It's  a  harmless  sort  of  affair, 
you  see.  Only  a  kind  o'  ceevil  note  of  hand;  a  promise 
to  pay  one's  lawful  debts  of  duty  and  obeydience  to  the 
L'nited  States.  Now,  A'  take  it  that's  a  good  dale  more  of 
a  covenant  nor  a  tist." 

"Ay!  but  it's  meant  for  a  test,"  McCormack  insisted. 
"They  knowed  well  that  most  of  us  that's  been  in  the 
risin'  won't  sign.  An'  they  mane  for  to  sift  us  out,  an' 
mark  us  for  vingeance.  It's  the  intintion  you've  got  to 
go  by.  Whativer  the  letter  of  the  paper  be,  it's  spirit  is  to 
crush  out  all  opposition  to  the  axcise,  and  to  crush 
out  all  opposers.  Jist  look  at  it!  CI  will  not  direckly 
nor  indireckly  oppose.'  That's  the  pledge.  Why,  accordin' 
to  that,  a  man  couldn't  aven  sign  a  petition  to  annul  the 
excise  laws,  intolerable  as  they  are." 


332  THE   LATIMERS. 

"Hold  on,  neighbor!"  said  Luke.  "It's  not  the  laws, 
but  their  axecution  you  promise  not  to  oppose." 

"Well,  what's  the  differ?" 

"A  dale  of  differ.  A  law's  a  law,  and  ought  to  be 
axecuted  as  long  as  it  stands.  If  it's  a  good  law,  good!  If 
it's  a  bad  law,  the  stricter  it's  inforced,  the  likelier  you  are 
to  git  rid  of  it.  To  oppose  the  passage  of  a  law  is  one 
thing,  an'  that's  lawful.  To  oppose  the  law  itself  by 
a-tryin'  to  repale  it  is  another  thing,  an'  that's  always 
lawful  whin  lawfully  an'  pa'cefully  done.  But  to  oppose 
the  axecution  of  the  law  is  jist  what  we've  been  doin'  or 
tryin'  to  do.  An'  that's  what  the  Gover'ment  wants  us  to 
promise  not  to  do.  If  I  were  to  go  to  the  len'th  of  sub- 
scribin'  that  pledge  or  promise,  or  test,  call  it  what  you 
pl'ase,  I'd  not  have  the  1'aste  scruple  agin  workin',  spakin' 
an'  votin'  for  the  repale  or  modification  of  the  prisent 
revenue  laws.  Axcuse  me,  Andy,  for  the  anterruption." 

The  faces  of  the  crowd  were  turned  upon  Luke,  blank 
with  wonder.  What  next?  Is  Luke  Latimer  also  weak 
ening? 

"No  axcuse  required,  Luke,"  said  Andy.  "We're  all 
lookin'  for  light,  I  take  it;  an'  nobody  'ud  sign  that  paper 
'athout  at  1'aste  tryin'  to  onderstand  it,  but  a  plumb  fool." 

"Or  a  coward!"  interrupted  McCormack. 

"Yes,  or  a  coward,"  Andy  assented.  "Though,  I  reckon 
it'll  take  a  dale  more  courage  to  sign  nor  to  refuse.  The 
bravest  thing  an  honest  man  iver  does,  is  to  go  back  on  his 
own  record  in  the  face  of  public  disapproval." 

Luke  Latimer  nodded  assent. 

"But  what  A'm  a-gittin'  at,"  continued  Andy,  "is  what 
the  Gover'ment  promises.  Ther's  al'ays  two  sides  to  a 
bargain.  Now  what  does  the  United  States  agree  to  do? 
The  Commissioners  promise  and  engage  'not  to  prosecute 
for  any  treasonable  or  other  indictable  offenses  against  the 
United  States,  committed  within  the  Fourth  Survey  of 
Pennsylvania  before  the  22d  day  of  August  last — 

"That  takes  in  Bower  Hill?"  said  Luke  interrogatively. 

"Ay,  Bower  Hill,  an'  all  back  of  it,  an'  all  afront  of 
it,  up  til  a  fortnight  ago,"  answered  Andy.  He  continued 
to  read:  "Shall  be  commenced  or  prosecuted  before  the 
10th  day  of  July  next,  against  any  person  who  shall  within 
the  time  limited  subscribe  such  assurance  and  engagement 
as  aforesaid,  and  perform  the  same.  On  the  said  tenth 
day  of  July  next, — " 


THE   LATIMEES.  333 

"That's  a  year  from  now?"  Luke  interrupted. 

"Ay,  the  10th  day  of  July  next  it  is,— July,  1795," 
said  Andy,  and  read  on — "There  shall  be  granted  a  general 
pardon  and  oblivion  of  all  said  offenses,  excluding  there 
from,  nevertheless,  all  who  shall  refuse  or  neglect  to  sub 
scribe  such  assurance  or  engagement  in  the  manner  afore 
said,  or  shall  after  such  subcription  violate  the  same,  or 
wilfully  obstruct  the  execution  of  said  acts,  or  by  aiding 
or  abetting  the  same." 

"There  it  is,  fr'inds!"  said  Andy,  resuming  his  perch 
on  a  nest  of  inverted  buckets.  "It  looks  like  a  clane  dale. 
Now,  A'm  one  of  those  chaps  as  put  a  halter  around  his 
neck  at  the  Bower  Hill  affair;  an'  A'  must  confiss  AVe 
felt  as  though  A'  'd  like  to  slip  out  of  it,  if  the  Gover'ment 
'11  gi'me  a  chanct.  An'  there's  the  chanct!  All  we've  got 
to  do  is  to  kape  quiet  for  a  year,  an'  the  Gover'ment  '11 
reward  us  with  pardon  an'  oblivion  of  all  the  past." 

"Oh,  yes,  indade!"  ejaculated  Davy  Dandruff.  He  sat 
upon  the  counter  with  legs  dangling  down,  and  kicking  his 
heels  against  the  front.  "Let  the  people  be  quiet  and 
they'll  be  rewarded,  says  you.  Wait  a  year,  an'  the  Gov 
er'ment  '11  provide  for  those  who've  stood  true  to  the  laws! 
But  what's  poor  fellows  like  me  to  do  in  the  manetime? 
Wait,  indeed!  It's  aisy  waitin'  dinner  with  a  full  stomach. 
Live  horse  an'  you  shall  have  grass,  says  you.  But  the 
trick  is  that  the  horse  '11  die,  and  the  hostler  '11  save  his 
grass.  But  what  good  '11  that  be  to  the  hoss?  I  wouldn't 
give  a  fip  for  a  wagon  load  of  sich  promises." 

"Well  spoken,  Davy!"  said  McCormack.  "That's  jist 
where  the  shoe  pinches.  We've  been  strikin'  a  blow  for 
better  times.  This  has  been  a  bread-and-butter  war.  The 
axcise  laws  have  ruined  us.  Yonder  paper  don't  improve, 
nor  promise  to  improve  'em.  It  sii-iply  means  that  they'll 
be  inforced  more  rigorously  than  iver;  an'  we  bind  our 
selves  to  stand  by  like  a  bound  boy  at  a  huskin',  and  niver 
cry  boo!  You  dassent  eay  a  word.  You've  pledged  your 
selves  agin  it  an'  a  pledge  is  a  hedge.  The  man  that  signs 
that  paper  jist  puts  a  stick  intil  the  Gover'ment's  hands 
to  bate  himself  with.  An'  that  you'll  find  out  to  your  sor 
row,  Andy  Burbeck,  if  you're  daft  enough  to  sign.  To  be 
sure,  the  Gover'ment  makes  some  high-soundin'  promises. 
Ay;  promises  are  aisy  enough  in  the  givin',  but  hard  in  the 
redeeming  an'  A've  1'arnt  long  ago  that  soft  words  butter 


334  THE    LATIMERS. 

no  parsnips.  Aven  if  A'  did  take  the  test, — an'  A' 
don't  mean  to — A'd  take  my  rifle,  and  off  til  the  Ohio 
country  till  all  had  blown  over." 

"Ah,  well,  Mr.  McCormack,"  said  Andy,  "you're  a  livin' 
proof  that  the  best  proverbs  sometimes  go  wide  of  the 
mark.  Now,  A've  often  h'ard  that  a  burnt  bairn  shuns  the 
fire.  But  here  you  are,  an  axile  fleein'  from  auld  Ireland 
along  of  mixin'  up  in  risin's  agin  the  Gover'ment,  an'  the 
keenest  one  among  us  all  for  holdin'  out  in  the  prisint 
insurraction.  But  you  musn't  jedge  the  government  of 
Washington  by  that  of  King  George." 

m  "Well,  Andy,  time  will  tell.  The  proof  of  the  puddin' 
is  in  the  atein'.  A'd  wager  a  sovereign  agin  a  leather  nine- 
pence,  that  ye'll  rue  your  bargain  come  July  nixt,  ay,  an' 
long  afore  that." 

"Ah  lads!"  said  Elder  John  Lowe,  "if  ye'd  'a  listened 
to  Dr.  McMillan,  an'  kep'  out'n  sich  troubles,  ye'd  'a  had 
no  nade  to  be  rackin'  your  brains  over  gittin'  out.  I've 
kep'  out,  an'  I  don't  nade  to  stay  awake  nights  a-worryin' 
over  the  comin'  of  the  army.  All  my  worry  is  about  my 
neighbors.  I'm  afeard  that  it'll  go  hard  with  you;  an'  my 
advice  is  to  make  your  peace  while  ye  can." 

"Don't  you  intand  to  sign,  elder?"  asked  Luke  quietly. 

"What?  Me?"  exclaimed  the  elder,  with  some  heat. 
"I  take  that  unkindly,  Mr.  Latimer.  What  for  should  I 
sign,  pray?  I've  been  forninst  your  doin's  from  the  first." 

"All  the  same,  you've  got  to  sign,"  said  Luke,  "or 
you'll  be  in  the  same  boat  with  the  rest  of  us." 

"Impossible!    Who  said  it?" 

"Squire  Brackenridge  said  it.  So  did  Senator  Eoss. 
So  did  Judge  Yates.  It's  in  the  proclamation.  All  citizens 
of  the  Western  Survey  of  Pennsylvania,  of  eighteen  years 
or  upwards,  are  compelled  to  be  polled,  yea  or  nay." 

"It's  rank  injustice!"  cried  the  elder,  rising  from  his 
bench  and  speaking  with  great  indignation.  "What? 
treat  the  innocent  and  guilty  alike?  I'll  niver  sign  that 
paper!  It  'ud  be  a  confission  of  guilt." 

"Go  slow,  elder!"  Andy  remarked.  "I  don't  wonder 
you're  a  bit  riled.  But  as  you  ?ve  got  to  take  the  back 
track,  you  beeta  not  git  too  far  intil  the  burrow."  The 
swift  transition  of  the  good  man's  temper  from  the  self- 
satisfied  and  pitying  complaisance  with  which  he  had  ad 
dressed  his  neighbors,  to  the  present  state  of  amazed  and 


THE   LATIMEES.  335 

indignant  protest,  had  excited  Andy's  mirthfulness.  "The 
Commissioners'  tist,  ye  see/'  he  continued,  "is  like  the 
Gospel  net;  it  takes  in  the  good  an7  bad  fishes  thegither. 
You  musn't  git  glum  and  grumpy  over  it.  Jist  do  what 
you've  advised  the  rist  of  us,  jouk  and  let  the  wave  go  by! 
It's  your  axaniple  that  the  Gover'ment  wants,  that's  all! 
An'  it  would  be  a  jubous  proceedin'  altogither  to  see  an 
elder  of  the  Kirk  jerked  up  jist  for  not  signin'  a  bit  of 
paper!  Ay,  elder,  the  doctor  has  telled  us  manny  and 
manny  a  time,  there's  sins  of  omission  as  well  as  sins  of 
commission.  Don't  let's  anny  of  us  be  a-fallin'  intil  sich 
negatyve  transgrissions  of  the  law,  elder." 

The  fellow  delivered  his  exhortation  with  a  solemn 
face,  and  with  seeming  deep  concern.  But  he  inwardly 
chuckled  over  the  opportunity  to  give  back  some  of  the 
chidings  he  had  received  from  the  good  man. 

"Besides  that,"  he  continued,  "do  you  mind  what  the 
Doctor  did  an'  said  las'  Sawbath?  It  was  an  awful  pro 
ceedin',  that,  to  put  off  the  Communion  after  it  had  been 
duly  app'inted,  an'  to  solemnly  declare  from  his  poolpit 
that  he  would  deny  the  Saycramint  to  all  his  people  as 
refused  to  sign.  Ye'd  beeta  reconseeder,  elder!  Ye're 
plowin'  in  stumpy  ground,  A'd  misdoubt,  as  ye've  often 
telled  me,  an'  A'  well  desarved  it,  A'  trow.  It  would  grieve 
us  all  sorely,  an'  be  a  swate  morsel  til  the  inemy,  were  an 
elder  of  the  Kirk  to  be  shut  out  from  the  Saycramint." 

"Andy  Burbeck,"  said  the  elder,  turning  his  ire  upon 
him,  "you're  a  railin'  Eabshakeh!  There's  nought  sacred 
agin  your  tongue;  nayther  the  elder  nor  the  meenister, 
nor  the  Holy  Saycramint  itself!" 

"Come,  come,  elder!"  interrupted  McCormack.  "You 
musn't  be  too  hard  on  Andy.  You  know  well  that  his  bark 
is  iver  worse  nor  his  bite.  Ye've  no  better  fr'ind  nor  him, 
an'  ye  must  'een  Tarn  to  give  and  take,  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"A'  crave  your  pardon',  Elder  Lowe,"  said  Andy,  hum 
bly  rising  and  doffing  his  hat.  "Indade,  A'  meant  no 
offinse.  A'm  jist  as  loth  to  sign  the  Tist  as  yourself;  but 
A'm  a-gawin'  to  put  my  pride  in  my  pocket,  and  sign,  as 
you  advise.  An'  if  you'll  permit  me,  A'll  give  my  r'asons. 
In  the  first  place,  Dave  Bradford's  bubble  is  bust.  There's 
not  enough  left  of  it  to  make  a  dacent  vandoo.  The  Whis 
key  Insurraction  is  deader  nor  a  door  nail.  It's  burnt  out, 
back  log  an'  fore  stick,  an'  nothin'  left  to  show  but  the 


836  THE   LATIMERS. 

black  coals,  an'  not  aven  a  doted  log  to  set  it  agoin'  agin. 
Now,  A'  don't  see  no  call  to  throw  our  lives  an'  property 
away,  an'  bring  trouble  an'  shame  upon  our  fam'lies  for 
sich  a  Fader  an'  sich  a  cause.  We're  all  sorry  it's  so;  but 
so  it  is,  an'  there's  no  use  cryin'  over  spilled  milk,  much 
less  tryin'  to  gather  up  the  milk  after  it's  spilled.  Some 
folks  think  Andy  Burbeck's  a  fool,  A'  know;  an'  he  may'nt 
be  overly  wise;  but  he  isn't  daft  enough  to  throw  away  all 
hope  for  the  future  on  a  chanct  like  that.  The  jig  is  up. 
The  fiddle  is  broke.  There's  nought  to  do  but  go  home 
and  git  inunder  cover.  That's  what  Andy  Burbeck  '11  do, 
neighbors,  do  ye  as  ye  wull." 

The  silence  which  followed  Andy's  deliverance  was 
broken  by  the  drumming  of  Davy  Dandruff's  heels  against 
the  counter  on  which  he  sat.  "Hugh!"  exclaimed  Davy,  at 
last.  "It's  aisy  enough  seen  'at  Andy's  been  gittin' 
a  wiggin'  from  his  wife.  Thank  fortun'  I'm  not  inunder 
petticoat  gover'ment,  an'  for  wan  I'll  stan'  out  agin  the 
tist  to  the  last  horn  blows." 

"Wiser  men  nor  you  or  me,  Davvy,"  Andy  rejoined, 
"have  taken  good  counsel  from  a  good  woman.  A'd  have 
no  cause  for  shame  aven  if  A'  am  inflooenced  by  a  woman 
like  Peggy  Burbeck.  A  good  wife's  a  sort  of  second  con 
science,  annyhow,  an'  no  man's  the  warse  for  hearkenin'  to 
the  same." 


CHAPTEE  XXXVI. 
LUKE  LATIMEK'S  DECISION  AND  WHAT  CAME  OF  IT. 

Luke  Latimer  rose,  and  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe  into  a  small  box  filled  with  sand  which  did  duty  for 
a  cuspidor.  He  leaned  his  unhurt  arm  against  the 
counter,  and  looked  gravely  around  the  circle. 

"Well,  neighbors,  I've  hearkened  carefully  to  what  has 
been  sayed;  an'  as  you  may  well  judge  from  your  own 
feelin's,  I've  been  doin'  a  dale  of  thinkin',  these  days,  on 
all  the  matters  yo've  discussed.  Like  the  rist  of  you,  I've 
been  perplixed  as  to  what  I  ought  to  do.  I  reckon  no  one 
'11  doubt  my  honest  purpose  to  sarve  the  people,  an'  my 
willin'ness  to  wark  an'  suffer  for  the  cause.  I've  given  a 
pretty  good  pledge  of  this," — pointing  to  his  wounded 


THE    LATIMERS.  337 

arm, — "which  I'm  likely  to  carry  to  my  grave,  an'  that — 
sometimes  I  think/' — his  voice  trembled  slightly,  and  he 
paused  a  moment  and  looked  down  sadly.  "An'  that,  I 
sometimes  think,  may  be  nearder  nor  I  like." 

"Good  Lord  forefend!"  cried  Andy  fervently. 

"Thank  ye  kindly,  Andy,  for  your  good  wush.  Pl'ase 
God,  I  would  like  to  live  a  lettle  longer,  if  only  for  Meg's 
sake.  Howsomiver,  we'll  not  die  til  our  time  comes,  an' 
there's  nought  '11  stay  us  when  the  hour  is  struck.  I've 
faced  death  a-manny  a  time,  an'  won't  show  the  white 
feather  afore  it,  I  hope,  come  it  soon  or  late.  But  that's 
nayther  her  nor  there.  I've  been  tryin',  God  knows,  not  til 
think  of  myself  at  all,  in  ponderin'  the  prisent  duty;  an'  a 
harder  task  nor  that  no  man  iver  set  himself;  as  most  of 
you  know,  I  dar  say.  I  owe  a  duty  to  my  neighbors  whom 
I've  inflooenced,  an'  to  the  country  whose  welfar'  I  sought. 
An'  as  far  as  I  know  my  duty,  I  mane  for  til  do  it. 

"I  went  intil  this  axcise  fight  with  high  hopes  of  suc- 
ciss.  I  felt  sure  we  were  right;  an'  I  belaved  we  had  the 
man  who'd  lade  us  til  victory.  I'm  free  to  say  that  I 
wanted  to  see  Western  Pennsylvania  an  independent  State 
in  the  Union.  By  times,  no  doubt,  I  was  tempted  to  go 
furder  nor  that  in  my  thoughts.  God  forgive  me!  for  I  see 
now  it  was  wrong.  But  that  the  Western  Survey  ought  to 
be  a  separate  State,  I  belaved,  an'  still  belave.  We'd  have 
a  better  chanct  to  git  our  rights,  an'  develop  our  resources, 
an'  protect  our  interests,  if  we  could  cut  loose  from  the 
eastern  section.  The  State  is  sort  o'  lop-sided;  an'  the  heft 
iest  part  is  on  'tother  side  the  mountains.  The  onfairness 
an'  inequality  niver  showed  clearder  nor  in  the  operation 
of  the  axcise  laws.  Things  got  til  sich  a  pass  that  we 
couldn't  abear  it  longer.  We  had  to  kick  agin  the  goads, 
an'  that's  no  aisy  wark;  though  it  seems  needful,  for  in 
ceevil  affairs,  the  favors  aye  go  to  the  hardest  kickers. 

"Well,  neighbors,  we  tried  it,  an'  we've  failed.  Andy 
Burbeck's  right.  Our  cause  is  lost!  As  a  political  Fader 
David  Bradford  has  proved  lettle  better  nor  a  bag  o'  wind. 
Aven  if  we  had  a  mind  to  wrar,  which  we  never  had,  he 
has  no  more  military  ability  nor  a  cow.  He  has  boggled 
our  good  an'  righteous  cause  ontil  it  is  eenamost  beneath 
contempt.  His  bad  management  has  frittered  away  all 
chanct  we  had  to  right  our  grievious  wrongs.  Like  a  brag 
gart  school  boy  a-pickin'  quarrels  with  a  man,  he's  shuck 


338  THE   LATIMERS. 

his  fist  inunder  the  Government's  nose  an'  then  run  away. 
He  is  all  fuss  an'  feathers.  It's  not  in  him  to  lade  a  great 
cause  to  victory." 

"Well,  then/'  interrupted  McCormack  angrily,  seeing 
how  matters  were  driving,  "why  didn't  you  cut  loose  from 
him,  an'  choose  another  Fader?" 

"That's  aisier  said  nor  done,  Mr.  McCormack.  Some 
of  us  was  willin'  enough;  but  who  else  was  there  to  choose? 
Besides,  Bradford  was  in  the  saddle,  an'  not  likely  to  dis 
mount  at  anny  man's  bid  an'  beck.  Good  or  bad,  it  was  the 
best  we  could  do.  Better  not  throw  out  the  dirty  water 
til  you  can  get  clane,  said  we.  But  nayther  foul  nor  fair, 
good  nor  bad  would  have  aught  to  do  with  the  matter  after 
Bradford  had  botched  the  job.  An'  now  Bradford  and 
Marshall  have  both  given  in  their  submission,  an  '11  sign 
the  test  to-morrow  among  the  first." 

A  groan  of  indignation  burst  from  the  little  company. 

"Infarnal  traitors!"  cried  Davy  Dandruff. 

"White-livered  cowards!"  exclaimed  McCormack.  "A' 
can  hardly  belave  it.  You  must  be  mistaken,  Luke." 

"I  had  it  from  their  own  mouths." 

"An'  ye'll  be  after  follerin'  their  example.  A'  darsay!" 
remarked  McCormack,  with  a  surly  snap  in  his  speech. 

"Their  axample  disn't  tell  a  feather  weight  with  me," 
answered  Luke  with  quiet  dignity.  "You'll  soon  1'arn 
what  I'm  a-goin'  to  do.  We're  not  only  'athout  a  1'adet, 
but  we're  'athout  organization  an'  inflooence  of  ivery  sort. 
With  Wrayne's  victorious  Legion  on  the  west,  an'  Washing 
ton's  armed  corps  of  fifteen  thousand  men  on  the  east, 
manny  of  'em  Revolutionary  veterans,  we  are  griddled 
round  about  with  a  wall  o'  doom.  The  only  thing  afore  us 
is  to  hunt  the  wilderness,  as  McCormack  threeps  to  do,  or 
accep'  the  honorable  tarms  which  the  Gover'ment  offers. 

"As  for  myself,  an'  the  other  1'aders  too,  I've  little  hope 
of  amnisty,  sign  or  no  sign.  It's  only  fair  an'  right  that 
we  should  stand  the  brunt  of  the  Gover'ment's  anger,  an? 
my  sinsare  hope  is  that  it  may  fall  on  us  alone.  But  I've 
a  duty  til  my  neighbors  an'  fellow  citizens,  an'  I  mane  to 
sign  the  pledge  of  loyalty.  I'm  not  denyin'  that  it's  a 
nauseous  dose;  but  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  take  it.  A 
pill  is  only  the  bitterer  to  take  for  chawin'  on  it.  If  one 
must  take  it,  the  better  way  is  to  swallow  it  outright  an' 
be  done  with  it.  An'  God  sparin'  me  til  to-morrow,  that's 
what  I'll  do! 


THE    LATIMERS.  339 

"There's  no  use  argyin'  the  case  now;  It's  decided 
a'ready,  an'  decided  ?gin  us.  Our  cause  is  lost,  neighbors; 
an'  the  laste  said  now  the  soonest  manded  hereafter,  if  so  be 
it  can  be  manded  at  all.  We've  run  chuck  up  agin  a  blind 
wall,  an'  there's  no  way  to  go  for'ard.  There's  nought  to 
do  out  turn  right  about  and  take  the  back  track.  Let's  be 
thankful  that  the  Gover'ment  has  left  a  way  open  for  an 
honorable  retrate.  I've  not  changed  my  mind  about  the 
axcise  laws,  nor  the  rights  of  the  people,  nor  the  conduc' 
of  the  Treasury  Department  an'  it's  Secretary  an'  agents, 
espeecially  the  latter.  But  I  can  promise  in  good  faith  all 
that's  in  the  Commissioners'  test.  Wanct  my  name  is  sot 
to  it,  I'll  kape  my  word.  I  bid  you  good  mornin',  neigh 
bors!" 

Few  were  inclined  to  discuss  the  matter  longer  or  com 
mit  themselves  further  one  way  or  another.  The  serious 
ness  of  the  position  had  been  forced  into  every  man's  mind, 
and  silently  and  slowly  the  village  conclave  dispersed. 

During  the  morning  of  Thursday,  September  llth, 
throughout  the  entire  Western  Survey,  voters  were  wending 
their  way  along  country  roads  and  trails  to  the  usual  voting 
places.  The  polls  would  open  at  noon,  and  so  continue 
until  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Before  the  hour  ap 
pointed,  a  great  crowd  had  gathered  around  the  tavern  at 
Canonsburg.  Dr.  McMillan  and  other  friends  of  order  were 
circulating  among  their  fellow  citizens  trying  to  persuade 
them  to  accept  the  Government's  terms.  There  was  little 
open  opposition;  but  surly  looks  on  many  faces,  and  obsti 
nate  withholding  of  approval,  promised  ill  for  success. 

Twelve  o'clock!  The  committeemen  were  seated  behind 
a  table,  over  which  were  spread  a  number  of  blank  forms 
of  submission.  A  record  book  was  before  them.  The  tan 
gled  ball  of  humanity  before  the  tavern  door  began  slowly 
to  unravel,  and  a  line  of  voters  wound  into  the  room. 

"Do  you  vote  Yea  or  Nay?" 

The  question  was  put  to  every  man,  and  a  due  minute 
made  of  the  answer.  Those  who  voted  "yea,"  delayed  long 
enough  to  sign  their  names  to  the  printed  form.  Those 
who  voted  "nay"  walked  out  without  further  ceremony, 
usually  with  a  defiant  air,  and  often  to  be  received  with 
cheers  by  the  crowd  outside. 

"Here  comes  Col.  John  Canon!     How  has  he  voted?" 

"Yea!"    Hoots  from  the  crowd. 


340  THE    LATIMERS. 

Now  Luke  Latimer,  leaning  on  John's  arm,  and  es 
corted  by  Andy  Burbeck,  walked  feebly  up  the  street.  A 
sleepless  and  painful  night  had  left  him  haggard  and  weak. 
The  crowd  silently  gave  way.  They  had  learned  already 
how  Luke's  vote  would  be  cast,  for  it  was  early  bruited 
about  the  town.  But  the  spell  of  respect  for  his  character, 
and  sympathy  with  him  for  the  wounds  he  bore,  was  still 
too  strong  upon  them  to  permit  open  expression  of  disap 
proval.  Perhaps,  also,  they  had  some  regard  for  the  strong 
arm  of  the  stalwart  youth  at  his  side,  and  the  ready  wrath 
of  Andy  Burbeck,  who  was  almost  equally  loved  and  feared. 
But  as  the  party  withdrew,  scowling  faces  looked  upon 
them,  and  low  mutterings  of  discontent  were  heard. 

An  hour  passed,  and  still  another.  Luke  lay  resting 
upon  a  rude  couch  softened  with  bear  skins.  A  sound  of 
cheering  men  floated  in  through  the  open  door.  He  leaned 
upon  his  elbow  and  listened. 

"Those  are  not  hearty  cheers,"  he  said,  speaking  to  his 
wife.  "It  sounds  like  the  yells  of  wrathful  men.  Hark! 
was  that  a  rifle  shot?  Look  out,  Polly;  look  out  and  see 
if  there's  trouble  afoot." 

Mrs.  Latimer  gazed  down  the  street.  "There's  some 
tumult  around  the  tavern,"  she  said.  "It  looks  for  all 
the  warld  like  an  angry  swarm  of  hornets  a-buzzin'  about 
their  paper  nest.  I  can  see  Dr.  McMillan's  tall  form  in  the 
midst  of  the  hurly-burly.  Goodness  gracious!  They  are 
hustlin'  him  about  as  though  he  were  a  common  plowman. 
Oh!  ye  sacreleegious  Shimeis!  Have  ye  no  respict  for  the 
Lord's  anointed?  Whatever  would  they  be  at?  They've 
made  a  rush  upon  the  tavern  door,  an'  are  crowded  an' 
jammed  therein,  like  a  passel  of  school  children  when  the 
master  raps  them  intil  their  books.  Good  land!  they're 
rushin'  out  agin!  The  whole  air  is  full  of  bits  of  paper 
that  thc're  tossin'  up,  an'  the  wind  is  blowin'  to  an'  fro  like 
forest  leaves  in  autumn  gusts." 

'Ay,"  muttered  Luke.  "Thim's  the  test  papers.  I 
misdoubt  they've  broken  up  the  polls.  That  '11  be  no 
jokin'  matter.  Idle  fellows!  Do  they  think  they  '11  save  a 
lost  cause  by  addin'  folly  til  crime?  It's  a  great  pity!" 

"Hark  til  them!"  continued  Mrs.  Polly.  "Did  ye  iver 
hear  sich  yowls?  What  are  the  looneys  about,  now? 
They're  bringing  a  table  out  of  the  door.  They  've  h'istcd 
some  man  on  top  of  it.  My  fathers!  What  can  they  mane? 


THE    LATIMERS.  341 

They've  got  inunder  the  table,  an'  have  raised  it  up  on 
their  shoulders,  an'  are  marchin'  up  an'  down — " 

"With  the  man  on  it?" 

"Ay,  with  the  man  on  it;  an'  he  bobbin'  up  an'  down 
like  a  puddin'  ball  in  a  pot  of  roup,  an'  holdin'  on  til  the 
side,  while  the  crowd  yells  an'  hurls  up  their  hats." 

"It's  a  mob!  They  must  be  a-fightin'  one  another!" 
exclaimed  Luke,  hastily  rising  as  several  rifle  shots  rang 
through  the  cheers. 

"No,  no!  Not  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Mrs.  Latimer. 
"They  're  only  a-shootin'  blanks  above  the  man's  head,  an' 
firin'  at  their  own  hats  as  they  fling  'em  intil  the  air,  like 
a  lot  of  loons  as  they  are.  They  've  let  the  man  down  now; 
an'  I  should  fancy  he'd  got  his  fill  of  that  sort  of  axerceese. 
There,  Luke  dear,  jist  you  lie  down  agin.  I'll  tell  ye  all 
that's  a-goin'  on.  You're  too  wake  to  worry  about  it." 

Luke  was  loath  to  confess  that  this  was  even  so.  He 
would  not  recline,  but  sat  down  again  upon  the  couch. 
His  limbs  were  trembling  beneath  him.  His  hurt  arm 
twitched  and  burned  and  smarted  until  he  was  faint. 

"What  now,  Polly,  what  now?"  he  asked,  for  the  cries 
seemed  to  wax  louder. 

Mrs.  Latimer,  who  for  the  moment  had  turned  to  look 
after  her  husband,  went  back  to  her  post  and  took  up  her 
report.  "They're  musterin'  in  the  street  now.  They  've 
broken  up  the  table,  an'  parted  the  pieces  among  'em,  an' 
are  shoulderin'  of  'em  like  guns.  The  man  whom  they 
h'isted  is  marchin'  in  front.  What?  It's  Davy  Dandruff, 
as  I  live!  The  blatherin'  lunkhead!  There'll  be  wise 
doins'  where  he  lades,  I  jalous!  There  are  two  men  ahint 
him,  with  a  big  rail  on  their  shoulders.  Now  they  have 
started.  They  are  marchin'  up  the  road." 

"Which  way?"  asked  Luke. 

"This  way;  right  towards  us,  a-shoutin'  like  mad  men. 
It's  fearsome  to  hear  'em.  My  fathers! — " 

She  suddenly  broke  off  her  report,  seized  the  door,  shut 
it  hastily,  and  turned  a  pallid  face  upon  her  husband.  Too 
late!  She  could  not  shut  out  that  dreadful  cry.  Luke  had 
heard  it. 

"Bail  ride  him!     Let's  ride  the  traitor  on  a  rail!" 

Luke  La  timer  leaned  over,  sick,  sick  at  heart,  and 
buried  his  face  within  his  hands.  0  for  an  hour  of  his  old 
strength  and  fire!  But  they  were  gone. 


342  THE    LATIMEES. 

Polly  shot  one  glance  of  pitying  love  upon  that  bowed 
form,  and  then  sprung  to  the  buckhorn  bracket  above  the 
fireplace,  and  seized  one  of  the  rifles  resting  on  it.  Behind 
her  a  woman's  form  glided  across  the  cabin  floor.  It  was 
Meg.  A  rifle  was  in  one  hand,  and  a  tomahawk  in  the 
other.  She  had  been  listening  from  her  room,  gathering 
little  of  the  meaning  of  what  she  heard,  but  seeing  that 
in  soni3  way  the  noise  outside  threatened  ill  to  her  father. 
Her  mother's  movement  towards  the  rifle-rack  gave  at  once 
interpretation  and  cue.  Snatching  up  the  weapons,  which 
she  had  brought  with  her  from  her  Indian  home,  and 
which  hung  in  her  room  as  trophies  and  reminders  of  the 
past,  she  stole  swiftly  and  noiselessly  past  her  father,  who 
never  lifted  his  face.  She  had  reached  the  door  ere  her 
mother  turned  from  the  gun  bracket. 

"My  child!  Come  back!"  cried  Polly.  Luke  raised  his 
head  at  the  call,  and  looked,  wondering,  at  the  maid,  and 
re-echoing  Polly's  cry,  rose  and  staggered  toward  the  door. 

Too  late!  Meg  was  already  in  the  yard,  and  half-way 
to  the  fence,  before  which  the  mob  had  now  halted.  A 
rugged  borderer  held  up  a  long  oak  rail,  one  end  of  which 
rested  on  the  ground  while  the  other  towered  aloft  like 
a  standard.  A  grim  banner  that,  indeed!  As  Dave  Dan 
druff  entered  the  gate  he  saw  Meg's  agile  form  moving 
toward  him  swift  and  silent  as  a  cloud  shadow,  with  trailed 
rifle  in  left  hand  and  tomahawk  uplifted  in  the  right. 

"You  man!"  she  cried.  "What  you  want  here?  What 
for  you  come  makin'  war-cries  'round  our  house?  You 
better  go  home!  You  come  furder,  Sunny  Hair  strike!" 

"Whew — ew!"  exclaimed  Davy,  checking  his  march  up 
the  path  before  this  unexpected  vision.  "This  is  mighty 
fine,  indade!  Jist  you  git  out'n  the  way,  my  lass.  We're 
after  no  women  folks.  It's  a  man  we're  goin'  to  dale  with, 
an'  this  sort  of  foolin'  won't  go." 

"A  man,  hey!"  interrupted  Meg.  "What  man  you 
want?  Luke  Latimer?" 

"Ay,  that's  jist  it!"  said  Davy,  advancing  a  step. 

"You  no  get  him,  then.    Take  that!" 

At  the  word,  the  tomahawk  sped  through  the  air,  and 
had  not  the  doughty  David  dodged  the  blow,  his  course 
then  and  there  would  have  ended.  As  it  was,  the  blade 
grazed  his  hat,  shearing  the  brim  from  one  side,  and  whirl 
ing  on  over  the  gate  buried  itself  within  the  upright  rail, 
which  it  fairly  cleft  asunder. 


THE   LATIMEES. 


343 


"You  dawgoned  squaw!"  shouted  Davy,  staggered  for  a 
moment,  but  recovering  and  rushing  forward.  He  was 
brought  up,  even  more  quickly  than  he  had  started,  before 
the  gaping  barrels  of  two  rifles.  Mrs.  Latimer  was  at  her 
daughter's  side  with  weapon  upraised.  There  stood  the 
two  women  side  by  side,  fair  Amazons,  one  the  very  coun 
terpart  of  the  other,  save  in  the  marks  of  riper  age,  and 
both  with  faces  grim  and  determined.  No  wonder  the 
braggart  started  back,  and  gazed  upon  them  with  appalled 
face  and  uplifted  hands. 

Now  from  the  back  part  of  the  house  a  shout  was  raised, 
and  the  clatter  of  men  climbing  the  kitchen  garden  fence^ 
was  heard,  and  a  rush  of  footsteps  over  the  ground.     A' 
crowd  of  Luke  Latimer's  friends,  headed  by  John  and 
Andy  Burbeck,  had  come  to  the  rescue. 

The  moment  of  silence  and  intense  excitement  that 
fell,  was  startled  by  a  rifle  shot.  Then  came  the  dull  thud 
of  a  falling  body  on  the  gravelly  path  before  the  cabin 
door.  A  voice  from  the  mob,  with  a  note  of  horror  therein 
cried:  "Luke  Latimer  is  shot!" 

Mrs.  Latimer  turned  about,  dropped  her  weapon  and 
with  a  shriek  of  agony  flew  to  her  husband,  who  lay  prone 
upon  his  face,  his  feet  resting  upon  the  threshold  of  his 
home.  Another  rifle  shot  followed,  and  the  whistle  of  a 
harmless  bullet  over  Davy  Dandruff's  head,  as  John  Lati 
mer's  hand  struck  up  Meg's  piece,  and  wrenched  it  from 
her  grasp.  A  swift  and  measureless  transformation  from 
disappointed  fury  to  surprised  affection  passed  over  the 
maid's  face,  as  she  saw  who  had  thus  disarmed  her. 

"Go  to  father,  Meg!  This  is  no  work  for  women!"  said 
John. 

"With  a  quick  glance  and  one  sharp  cry,  Meg  sprang  to 
her  mother's  aid.  John,  endowed  with  that  strength  which 
seizes  the  human  frame  in  moments  of  loftiest  rage,  laid 
hands  on  Davy  and  hurled  him  over  the  fence  into  the 
midst  of  the  mob;  a  feat  which  for  years  thereafter  was  the 
talk  and  wonder  of  the  countryside. 

"Away!"  he  shouted,  "or  we  will  open  fire  upon  you!" 

But  there  was  a  power  at  work  among  the  rioters 
mightier  than  John's  strength,  greater  than  fear  of  the 
armed  and  angry  friends  around  him, — the  force  of  con 
science.  They  had  heard  the  cry,  "Luke  Latimer  is 
killed!"  They  had  seen  the  prostrate  form,  and  although 


344  THE    LATIMEKS. 

no  one  knew  what  hand  among  them  had  fired  the 
shot,  every  man  knew  that  the  responsibility  might  fall 
upon  himself.  They  had  meant  violence,  but  not  murder. 
The  indignity  of  a  few  moment's  ride  upon  a  rail  was  their 
utmost  intention;  and  few  of  them,  if  they  had  been 
wholly  sober,  would  have  gone  that  far  with  one  so  widely 
honored  as  Luke.  A  panic  seized  them,  and  before  the 
force  of  their  own  disquieted  consciences  they  turned  and 
fled,  leaving  their  half -stunned  leader  lying  in  the  dust  of 
the  road,  and  the  oaken  rail,  with  Meg's  tomahawk  still 
cleaving  to  it,  leaning  against  the  picket  fence  where  its 
bearer  had  dropped  it. 

Luke  was  tenderly  carried  into  the  house  and  laid  upon 
the  couch,  while  a  neighbor  hurried  away  for  the  surgeon. 

"Where  was  he  hit?  I  cannot  find  the  wound!"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Latimer.  With  Meg's  aid,  she  had  stripped 
the  wammus  from  off  the  unconscious  man,  and  unbuttoned 
his  shirt.  "There's  not  a  drop  of  blood  annywheres,  axcep' 
a  little  oozin'  here  from  the  bandages  'round  his  poor 
hurted  arm." 

A  crowd  of  anxious  friends  had  hurried  into  the  cabin, 
as  folks  will  do  in  like  cases,  craning  their  necks  and  gap 
ing  curiously  to  see  and  hear  and  mayhap  also  to  help,  but 
only  succeeding  in  shutting  off  what  is  commonly  most 
needed  by  the  sufferer — fresh  air.  Meg,  noting  her 
mother's  remark,  pushed  her  way  through  this  crowd  to  the 
door.  She  picked  up  Luke's  rifle,  which  lay  unnoticed 
near  the  doorstep.  She  threw  back  the  trigger;  the  prim 
ing  can  wras  powderless.  She  blew  into  the  muzzle;  the 
piece  was  empty,  and  the  touch  of  her  lips  showed  it  to  be 
still  warm  with  a  late  discharge.  She  returned  to  the 
house,  carrying  the  rifle. 

"See!"  she  said,  "father  no  shot  at  all!  He  came  to 
help  mother  and  Meg, but  too  much  sick  to  stand  that!  His 
gun  go  off  himself  afore  ready, — zizz! — away  into  the  air!" 

Meg  was  right.  Forgetting  his  wounds  in  his  eager 
ness  to  protect  his  wife  and  daughter,  Luke  had  taken  his 
rifle  from  the  bracket,  and  had  run  to  the  door.  But  in  the 
very  act  of  going  forth  his  strength  had  failed,  and  he 
sank  in  a  swoon.  His  piece  was  discharged  by  the  fall,  and 
the  bullet  flew  harmless. 

Yet,  still  the  tidings  ran  through  the  village  and  among 
the  voters:  "Luke  Latimer  is  killed!"  Those  concerned 


THE    LATIMERS.  345 

in  the  riot  had  already  taken  horse  and  left  the  tavern. 
They  took  with  them  Davy  Dandruff,  who  by  this  time  had 
recovered,  and  though  bruised  and  sore  from  his  rough 
handling,  was  able  to  mount. 

"Dawgon  John  Latimer!"  he  muttered,  as  he  rode  off, 
supported  by  his  comrade.  "He  downed  me  at  Bower  Hill, 
an'  I  swore  I'd  pay  him  back  the  nex'  time  we  met.  I 
hain't  done  it,  rot  his  ornary  hide!  But  lemme  meet  him 
agin  jist  wanct  more!  The  third  time's  the  charm.  The 
stuck-up  bullion!  Oh!  Jiminy!  Ouch!  Don't  trot  the 
horse  so  hard,  boys!  Drat  him!  I'll — 

"Shut  up,  Dave!"  exclaimed  his  supporter.  "Talk's 
cheap!  You  hurry  up  now,  or  you'll  git  your  dratted  neck 
stretched  for  Luke  Latimer.  An'  our'n,  too.  Come  along!'5 
And  the  doughty  David  came  along. 

The  riot  was  ended.  The  vigor  went  out  of  it  with  the 
exit  of  the  roughs  who  followed  Dandruff  or  rather  had 
urged  him  on.  Even  when  the  truth  was  learned  as  to 
Luke  Latimer's  accident,  the  sobering  effects  of  the  first 
report  remained,  and  the  Testing  of  the  People  was  re 
sumed,  and  went  on  in  peace. 


CHAPTEE    XXXVII. 

THE    TAMIXG    OP    MEG    LATIMER. 

Our  histor3r  of  these  children  of  the  frontier  has  antici 
pated,  by  a  few  days,  the  incidents  following  Meg  Latimer's 
return  home.  It  was  a  strange  life  to  which  the  untamed 
child  of  nature  was  introduced,  and  which  she  must  assimi 
late.  It  had  much  of  freedom  and  gladness  and  peace; 
but  there  were  checks  and  fetters  which  sorely  fretted  at 
times.  And  puzzles?  They  met  her  everywhere.  Some 
she  mastered.  Some  she  could  not  solve.  All  kept  her 
poor  untutored  brain  in  a  whirl,  and  sent  her  to  bed  at 
night  wearier  from  wrestling  therewith  than  she  had  ever 
been  after  the  longest  march  with  Shawnee  hunting  bands. 

After  all,  love  and  friendship  are  the  chief  factors  in 
civilizing  our  race.  These  masterful  emotions  wrought 
most  strongly  toward  the  remaking  of  Meg  Latimer.  Her 
love  of  her  parents  and  of  John,  though  a  new-born  pas- 


346  THE   LATIMEKS. 

sion,  was  full  orbed  from  its  birth.  To  be  like  those  loved 
ones,  to  please  them  and  win  their  approval,  were  the 
strongest  incentives  to  abandon  the  old  ways.  "Friendship, 
too,  came  in  and  wrought  with  its  gentle  but  potent  force. 
It  happened  in  this  wise. 

Almost  the  first  act  of  John  Latimer  when  the  trans 
ports  of  Meg's  welcome  were  over,  was  to  run  up  to  the 
McCormack  house  to  tell  Fanny  the  good  news.  He  would 
not  be  satisfied  until  Fanny  had  promised  to  come  early 
the  next  morning,  before  any  one  else  had  arrived,  and  be 
the  first  to  meet  his  sister  Meg.  So  she  did,  and  as  drops 
of  drew  within  a  lily  corol  run  together  when  the  wind 
shakes  the  flower,  these  two  spirits  at  once  blended  in 
mutual  sympathy.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  how  Meg's  soul 
was  knit  with  Fanny's.  "Sister  Fanny!"  so  John  had  called 
her.  So  she  would  be,  and  so  she  was,  with  a  love  that 
was  never  broken;  for  such  friendship  outlives  time's 
changes  not  only,  but  time  itself.  The  quality  of  that 
companionship  which  Meg  found  in  Fanny  was  such  as  not 
John,  nor  Luke,  nor  Polly  could  give.  It  was  not  superior 
but  different.  It  was  something  apart,  and  of  its  own  kind, 
and  influenced  her  as  did  nothing  else,  and  helped  to  shape 
her  after  that  new  mode  of  womanhood  toward  which  she 
strove.  Thus  friendship  became  ally  with  love  to  deliver 
the  paganized  maid  from  the  trammels  of  her  past  life. 

Her  mother  was  often  perplexed,  and  indeed  vexed, 
though  she  never  showed  it,  over  Meg's  preferences  among 
the  womanly  handicrafts  which  she  at  once  began  to  learn. 
For  example,  Mrs,  Polly  was  the  pink  of  tidiness  in  her 
household  arrangements.  Against  dust  and  disorder  she 
waged  ceaseless  warfare.  The  one  thing  that  most  fretted 
her  in  Luke  and  John,  was  their  incurable  habit  of  muss 
ing  and  tumbling  things.  It  was  a  great  blow  to  her 
housewifely  pride,  when  she  saw  that  her  daughter  took 
rather  after  father  and  brother  than  after  her  own  dainty 
ways.  Gracious  Heavens!  would  this  dear  child  be  a  slat 
ternly  housekeeper?  0  the  accursed  savages,  who  had 
wrought  this  ill! 

Patience,  good  mother!  The  habits  of  the  wigwam  will 
not  wash  off  from  a  human  soul  as  readily  as  dust-marks 
from  your  cabin  floor.  In  sooth,  it  was  natural  that  Meg 
should  like  to  see  things  in  a  state  of  nature.  Nature  is  a 
tidy  housekeeper,  and  forever  busy  cleansing  herself,  and 


THE   LATIMERS.  347 

removing  from  her  demesne  the  waste  and  litter  and  filth 
of  living  creatures,  and  of  man  the  greatest  offender  of 
them  all.  Yet  her  methods  are  not  so  artificial,  and  are 
more  leisurely  than  the  model  housewife  would  approve. 
Let  this  be  our  apology  for  Meg,  whose  taming  was  never 
quite  complete  in -these  matters. 

She  did  not  take  kindly  to  broom  and  whisk,  to 
mop  and  brush.  To  sweep  and  dust,  to  scrub  and  scour, 
to  slosh  and  slop  about  with  bucket  and  mop  she  did  not 
like.  Nay,  decidedly  she  disliked  it,  rather.  Hugh!  the 
dust  got  into  nostrils  and  eyes  and  offended  them,  so  that 
she  sniffed  and  ran  out  into  the  fresh  air.  The  water,  too, 
dabbled  her  skirts  and  wet  her  moccasins.  It  was  all  so 
nasty!  To  toss  up  the  house,  to  put  things  into  chaos, 
and  make  much  clutter  and  mess,  and  be  so  clarty,  that 
one  might  be  clean, — that  puzzled  Meg. 

So  also  did  her  mother's  insistence  on  a  certain  order 
prescribed  for  the  household  furniture.  "You  must  do  it 
thus  and  so!"  bade  Mrs.  Polly,  setting  the  chairs  primly 
against  the  wall,  and  the  table  squarely  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  and  the  couch  here,  and  so  on  with  the  other 
articles.  "Don't  you  see  how  much  better  it  looks?  how 
trig,  and  tidy  and  Christian-like." 

But  Meg  did  not  see.  Alas!  she  could  not;  for  her 
taste  had  been  hopelessly  perverted  and  her  vision  set 
awry  by  her  long  and  close  familiarity  with  Nature's  care 
less  way  of  setting  things  about.  No  doubt,  no  doubt! 
Nature  is  a  geometer  in  other  fields  than  crystal  making. 
But  after  all,  one  has  to  be  taught  to  see  the  beauty  of 
aligning  things  in  rectangles  and  triangles.  Patience,  good 
mother.  Nature  is  sure  in  the  end  to  yield  to  art! 

Another  of  Meg's  dislikes  was  the  spinning  wheel.  She 
saw  her  mother  sit  there,  keeping  the  treadle  going, — 
tramp!  tramp!  She  loved  to  listen  to  the  droning 
hum-m-mm  of  the  flyers,  which  reminded  her  of  the  lazy 
buzzing  of  insects  as  in  her  captive  days  she  loitered  on  the 
tussocks  of  soft  grass  beside  some  gurgling  brook,  and  spun 
and  spun  day  dreams  of  her  white  kindred  and  home.  But 
though  she  tried  the  task,  and  longed  to  please  her  mother 
by  learning,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  it. 

Tramp,  tramp!  Tush!  She  could  not  abear  it!  And 
she  put  the  wash-tub  work  in  the  same  category.  Slavish 
toil!  Far,  far  harder  than  hoeing  the  green,  growing 


348  THE   LATIMERS. 

maize  in  Indian  cornfields!  Perhaps,  there  are  other 
women  who,  even  in  our  day,  may  look  at  the  matter  in  the 
same  light,  only  substituting  sewing  machines  and  the  like 
for  spinning  wheels;  and  thereby  they  doubtless  prove 
their  lack  of  perfect  civilization.  But  one  day  Meg  visited 
Fanny  McCormack  when  she  happened  to  be  working  with 
the  big  spinning  wheel.  Aha!  that  was  quite  another 
affair.  The  erect  attitude,  the  motion  to  and  fro,  the 
graceful  and  continuous  action  all  caught  her  fancy,  and 
she  begged  to  be  taught  the  use  of  this  instrument. 

"A  strange  whimsey,  indeed!"  her  mother  thought,  who 
did  not  see  the  fine  points  of  difference  in  the  methods  of 
the  two  machines.  Was  not  spinning,  spinning?  Yet  she 
lost  no  time  in  providing  a  great  wheel,  and  this  Meg  had 
carried  to  Fanny  McCormack's  house.  There  the  two 
maidens  were  often  seen  working  together,  accompanying 
the  buzzing  of  the  wheels  and  whirr  of  the  spools  with 
sound  of  their  voices  and  merry  laughter.  In  this  pleasant 
school  Meg  had  many  a  lesson  from  Fanny,  quickly  and 
thoroughly  learned. 

Here  too  came  John  Latimer  and  sat  loitering  on  the 
steps  of  the  open  cabin  door,  watching  the  graceful 
workers,  and  spinning  yarns  of  another  sort  to  amuse  them. 
He  gossiped  and  laughed,  and  listened  with  full  content, 
and  added  his  own  tutoring  to  Fanny's.  He  never  had 
happier  days,  often  and  often  he  said  in  after  years. 

Meg  took  to  sewing  not  unkindly,  but  wrought  at  it 
only  indifferently  well.  Eough  needlework  she  could  do, 
and  had  done  often  enough  for  Indian  wear,  but  with 
coarser  tools  and  material  than  her  mother  bought  for  her 
outfit.  A  complete  outfit  it  must  be,  for  the  mystery  of 
underwear  was  foreign  to  her  child.  What  had  Indians  to 
do  with  that?  Truth  to  tell  it  cost  Meg  some  pain  to  disci 
pline  her  body  to  it;  for  like  children,  and  races  which  live 
most  closely  to  Nature,  the  extra  garments  irked  her.  But 
once  learned,  she  wondered  how  she  could  have  borne  their 
absence  in  those  old  Indian  days. 

With  embroidery  it  was  otherwise.  There  were  few 
Indian  maids  in  her  tribe  who  had  as  deft  a  hand  as  she 
for  beadwork.  Mind  and  fingers,  taste  and  touch  were 
thus  trained  for  the  gentle  art  of  broidery.  In  a  little 
while,  she  had  exhausted  all  her  mother's  simple  skill 
therein.  Then  she  passed  into  Fanny's  hands,  and  soon 


THE    LATIMERS.  349 

had  mastered  all  she  knew;  although  Fanny  had  learned 
dainty  stitches  and  patterns  brought  from  Philadelphia  by 
her  friend  Blanche  Oldham.  However,  it  was  hard  for  Meg 
to  see  why  Fanny  did  not  practice  her  art  more  for  her  own 
adornment.  Meg  had  planned  a  dress  for  herself,  bright 
with  beadwork,  and  covered  with  broidery.  Fanny  tried 
to  show  her  that  it  was  not  in  good  taste. 

"What  for  you  learn  all  this,  then?"  cried  Meg,  impa 
tiently.  "What  for  you  teach  Meg?  That  foolish,  if  you 
no  use  it !  I  think  Indian  maidens  wiser  than  white  women 
for  loving  painted  skins,  as  they  call  them.  Sister  Fanny 
very  beautiful.  Why  not  dress  beautiful?  The  Great 
Spirit  has  made  her  with  bright  blue  eyes,  and  bright  red 
in  her  lips,  and  pink  on  her  cheeks,  yes,  and  red,  too,  when 
she  blush  so  when  John  come  sometimes.  What  for  Good 
Spirit  do  that?  Mebbe  that  bad  taste?  Now,  if  Manitou 
make  Fanny's  face  pretty,  why  not  Fanny  make  dress 
pretty  for  herself  with  blue  and  red  and  pink?  Meg  no  see 
why.  Fanny  like  flowers,  Meg  like  flowers,  Great  Spirit 
like  flowers,  too.  He  put  them  everywhere.  He  make 
beautiful  green  dress  for  prairies  and  hills,  and  He  put 
flowers  on  them,  too.  Mebbe  that  not  good  taste?  Fanny 
better  tell  Great  Spirit  so!  She  no  like  to  do  that,  hey? 
Then  what  for  Meg  not  put  flowers  and  pretty  things  on 
her  dress;  all  over  it  if  she  like,  as  the  Great  Spirit  does  the 
meadows  and  hills?" 

No  doubt  you  will  say  that  her  logic  was  as  heathenish 
as  her  taste.  But  she  held  to  it  until  appeal  was  made  to 
John.  Would  one  have  believed  it?  John  sided  with 
Fanny!  Yet  not  exactly  for  Fanny's  reason.  With  that 
justice  which  is  said  to  be  the  natural  endowment  of  the 
male  temperament,  he  soothed  Meg  with  at  least  a  show  of 
assent  to  her  argument.  But  he  told  her  that  the  custom 
was  otherwise  with  white  men,  who  liked  to  see  their 
women  dressed  plainly,  though  prettily.  If  she  put  on 
beads  and  embroidery,  and  gauds  and  trinkets,  folk  might 
think  her  an  Indian. 

Thereat,  Meg  abandoned  her  plan  (for  was  not  John 
her  oracle?),  and  cherished  it  only  in  her  dreams.  But  it 
took  a  hard  tug  of  her  will  to  get  the  fancy  out  of  her 
Indianized  brain.  It  was  perhaps  well  for  the  force  of 
John's  reasoning  that  she  could  get  no  glimpse  of  a  civilized 
lady  dressed  for  a  ball,  or,  for  that  matter,  of  a  party, of  full- 
dressed  civilized  gentlemen  of  the  period. 


350  THE    LATIMER8. 

One  thing  gave  Meg  and  her  family  unalloyed  satisfac 
tion, — the  household  cooking.  From  childhood,  cooking 
was  Meg's  chief  delight.  The  Shawnees  had  counted  her 
the  best  cook  in  the  tribe,  and  had  given  her  a  name,  which, 
like  a  brave's  war  name,  expressed  their  high  sense  of  her 
merits.  It  is  musical  enough  in  the  Indian  tongue,  though 
the  best  English  equivalent  one  can  find  for  it,  is  "Queen 
of  the  Kettle."  Meg  was  proud  of  it  until  she  was  quite 
tame,  when  she  ceased  to  boast  of  it,  for  her  white  friends 
seemed  to  think  that  it  had  an  uncivilized  savor.  It  is  true, 
certain  noble  ladies  of  England,  who  are  close  to  the 
Queen's  person,  bear  somewhat  similar  titles,  as  "Mistress 
of  the  Kobes,"  and  "Lady  of  the  Bed  Chamber/'  But 
these,  perhaps,  are  relics  of  the  semi-barbarous  days  of 
Merry  England. 

However,  no  matter  for  the  name;  the  fact  re 
mained,  and  of  that  she  was  never  ashamed,  and  had  no 
cause  to  be.  It  had  served  her  well  in  her  Indian  home. 
Succohanos,  her  Shawnee  father,  was  a  glutton;  and  Win- 
necheoh,  the  old  hag  his  wife,  was  almost  as  hearty  in  her 
love  of  the  cookery  as  in  her  dislike  of  cooking.  There 
fore,  when  the  braves  sought  Meg  in  marriage,  for  there 
were  few  young  bucks  who  did  not  covet  her  skill,  to  say 
nothing  of  her  comely  person,  her  plea  to  be  spared  this 
horror,  which  she  had  resolved  never  to  submit  to,  found 
support  in  the  most  sensitive  part  of  the  Indian's  con 
science,  his  stomach.  Succohanos  could  not  reconcile  him 
self  again  to  commit  that  tender  organ  to  his  old  squaw's 
culinary  bungling.  Therefore  he  shook  his  head,  and  said 
(the  astute  diplomat!  he  knew  that  much  of  civilization) — • 
"All  right!  Succohanos  is  willing.  He  will  speak  to  the 
Queen  of  the  Kettle.  But  he  is  iraid  she  will  not  mate 
just  now.  You  must  sing  very  softly  and  very  long  in  her 
ear.  She  loves  her  owrn  wrigwam  too  well." 

When  the  disappointed  suitor  came  back  to  unburden 
his  chagrin,  Succohanos  looked  solemn,  though  fairly 
chuckling  with  inward  satisfaction,  and  said:  "Wait 
awhile!"  But  Shawnee  braves  are  philosophers;  they  had 
neither  learned  to  labor  nor  to  wait  and  betook  themselves 
to  other  maids  more  complaisant  of  their  addresses.  As 
to  Winnecheoh,  she  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  going 
back  to  the  pots  in  her  old  age,  and  at  the  same  time  sub 
mitting  her  dainty  tooth  to  her  own  cookery.  Therefore 


THE   LATIMERS.  351 

she  encouraged  no  bucks  to  come  a-courting  at  her  wig 
wam. 

Mack-a-chach,  the  oldest  son,  would  yield  to  no  warrior 
of  his  tribe  in  valiant  deeds  as  a  trencherman,  when  Meg 
served  as  chef.  Besides,  he  had  hopes  that  some  day  he 
would  install  this  fair  cook  in  a  wigwam  of  his  own.  Hence 
his  influence  was  also  on  the  side  of  Meg's  celibacy.  As 
to  Wappatomica,  the  second  son,  a  youth  of  eighteen  or  so, 
lie  was  Meg's  most  devoted  squire  and  champion.  Not 
only  because  he  was  a  good-natured  fellow  with  many  good 
points  (for  a  savage),  but  because  Meg  knew  so  thoroughly 
how  to  cater  to  his  robustious  boyish  appetite  that  he  would 
fairly  have  tomahawked  the  brave  who  would  have  dared 
to  deprive  the  wigwam  of  her  presence  and  service.  Thus 
the  family  was  unanimous  in  letting  Meg  have  her  way  in 
matrimonial  affairs.  With  the  mighty  weapons  of  the 
kettle,  calabash  and  horn  spoon,  she  had  conquered  her 
freedom  from  the  odious  yoke  of  an  Indian  marriage. 
Truly,  as  has  been  said  "the  pen  is  mightier  than  the 
sword;"  but  as  truly  might  it  be  said,  if  one  dared  to  say  it, 
the  pot  is  mightier  than  the  pen! 

There  was  one  accessory  of  the  art  culinary,  however, 
that  Meg  heartily  detested — washing  dishes.  Give  her 
the  materials  and  the  tools,  and  she  would  cook  the  day 
long  with  unflagging  delight.  Only,  let  someone  clear 
away  for  her!  Her  mother  liked  that  kind  of  work  (at  least 
so  she  said),  and  Meg,  with  true  filial  affection,  would  not 
cross  her  liking. 

Not  the  least  novel  feature  of  Meg's  new  experi 
ence  was  the  great  change  in  her  relations  to  the  males 
of  her  household  and  the  community.  In  the  presence 
of  white  men,  Meg  long  kept  the  feelings  of  an  Indian 
woman.  To  the  white  man,  woman  was  a  companion,  an 
object  of  tender  care;  as  far  as  frontier  exigencies  would 
allow,  always  to  be  protected  and  honored.  To  the  red 
man,  woman  was  a  servant,  to  plant  and  cook,  to  make 
and  mend,  to  bear  children  to  her  warrior  and  hunter  hus 
band.  Frontier  life  gave  scant  space  for  formal  courtesy; 
but  it  kept  at  least  that  atmosphere  of  deference  for 
woman  which  belongs  to  civilization. 

It  was  pretty  to  watch  the  conflict  which  the  maiden 
now  must  wage  between  the  old  life  of  savagery, 
unconsciously  swaying  her  actions,  and  the  new,  nobler  life 


352  THE    LATIMEKS. 

which  began  to  open  before  her.  Self-suppression, 
service  of,  even  servility  to  the  male  were  enthroned 
with  all  the  force  and  authority  of  long  habit.  How 
could  these  at  once  be  dropped  from  look  and  speech 
and  manner?  How  could  she  learn  to  take  on  her 
the  new  yoke  of  subjection  to  a  caretaker?  After  all, 
her  mind  was  at  times  so  confused,  that  she  seemed  to  see 
in  the  treatment  of  the  men  of  the  two  races  the  same  sense 
of  superiority  and  sovereignty,  only  expressed  by  different 
methods.  Before  she  was  done  with  it  all,  she  was  not  quite 
sure  which  method  was  the  least  agreeable  to  her,  at  times. 

This  was  only  one  of  the  social  problems  with  which  the 
untutored  mind  had  to  grapple.  For  example,  that  was 
a  rude  experience  which  came  to  her  on  the  day  for  the 
Testing  of  the  People,  not  a  week  after  her  return  home. 
A  drunken  quarrel  and  fight  were  no  novelties  to  her;  and 
there  was  nothing  complex  in  her  method  of  dealing  with 
the  rioters  before  her  father's  house.  The  whole  affair  was 
a  simple  one  from  her  Indian  standpoint;  and  so  continued 
until  her  friends  began  to  explain  matters  from  their  civil 
ized  coign  of  vantage.  To  Meg's  thoughts  the  riot  was 
merely  a  matter  of  natural  male  pugnacity  plus  firewater! 
How  shall  one  explain  the  muddle  that  befell  her  intellect 
when  her  mother  tried  to  make  things  plain? 

"Taxes?"  She  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  such  mat 
ters.  "Bevenue  to  support  the  government?"  The  phrase 
had  no  meaning  to  her.  In  vain  did  friends  explain  that 
this  meant  to  pay  the  officers  of  the  government.  What! 
Meg  indignantly  exclaimed:  Pay  your  chiefs  and  warriors? 
Ha!  ha!  That  was  indeed  strange,  that  white  warriors 
must  be  paid  for  doing  their  duty  to  their  tribe!  And  that 
any  warrior  would  want  wampum  and  gifts  for  the  honor 
of  being  chief  and  ruler  of  his  nation?  Most  wonderful! 
Incomprehensible,  that,  to  a  savage  mind.  And  did  white 
men  pay  their  chiefs,  medicine  men,  sages  and  head  war 
riors  for  making  palaver  in  the  great  Council  House  at 
Philadelphia?  That  was  the  most  amusing  and  amazing 
of  all  that  she  learned  as  to  the  \ises  of  revenue.  Did  not 
the  wisdom  of  eve^v  sa^e  end  warrior  belong  to  his  tribe? 
Was  not  %e  7oung  brave  proud  when  the  day  came  that 
\n  opinion  was  asked  in  the  Council  of  his  people?  Take 
*aoney  for  this  duty?  Hugh!  you  would  find  no  Shawnee 
\uite  so  low  as  that! 


THE   LATIMEES.  353 

But  the  most  puzzling  thing  about  it  all  was  that  the 
trouble  came  of  making  fire-water.  Meg  had  decided 
views  on  that  point,  which  her  Indian  experience  had 
taught  her.  Bless  you!  she  had  no  more  idea  of  "prohibi 
tion"  than  anybody  else  a  century  ago.  Bat  if  the  key  of 
the  bottomless  pit  had  been  in  her  keeping,  and  all  the 
white  men's  fire-water  under  her  hand,  there  would  have 
been  a  swift  decanting  of  it  adown  that  "easy  way"  to 
Avernus,  over  which  so  many  of  its  victims  unhappily  have 
gone.  Poor  pagan  child!  She  would  not  have  earned  a 
seat  in  Parliament,  or  a  baronetcy  or  earldom  in  Great 
Britain;  or  a  mayoralty  or  aldermanship  or  police  cap 
taincy  or  such  matter,  in  America,  had  she  lived  in  these 
enlightened  times.  To  Meg  these  and  many  other  things 
were  indeed  a  muddle!  Her  head  ached,  and  she  would 
give  up  the  puzzle.  Would  she  ever  learn  the  crooked 
ways  of  white  men?  She  began  to  perceive  that,  in  many 
cases,  she  must  (as  the  minister  had  informed  her)  walk 
sby  faith  and  not  by  sight. 

AValk  by  faith?  So  comes  into  view  Meg's  religious 
training.  On  the  Sabbath  following  her  arrival,  she  went 
with  the  family  "to  church."  It  did  not  occur  to  anyone 
that  her  mind  was  an  utter  blank  concerning  public  wor 
ship.  So  she  walked  into  the  "Great  Council  House/' 
quite  unconscious  of  the  many  curious  eyes  that  were 
turned  upon  her;  a  civilized  act  which  her  Indian  rever 
ence  for  sacred  things  would  not  permit  her  to  indulge  or 
even  imagine.  Her  first  great  surprise  came  at  the  open 
ing  psalm.  The  minister  announced  the  one  hundreth 
Psalm  beginning: — 

All  people  that  on  earth  do  dwell, 
Sing^to  the  Lord  with  cheerful  voice  ; 

Him  serve  with  mirth,  his  praise  forth  tell, 
Come  ye  before  Him  and  rejoice. 

The  precentor  arose  in  his  little  desk  before  the  pulpit, 
and  intoned  the  first  line,  Meg  following  all  with  absorbed 
attention.  Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  The  profound 
silence  was  broken  by  a  mighty  shout,  which  burst  at  once 
from  the  throats  of  all  the  people: 

"A-aw-11  Pee-eep!— " 


354  THE   LATIMERS. 

Meg  sprang  to  her  feet  like  a  startled  fawn,  and  gazed 
around  upon  the  shouting  throng.  Her  face  betrayed  the 
mingled  wonder  and  fear  that  agitated  her.  Why  should 
the  people  raise  a  war-whoop?  A  vague  terror  seized  her, 
and  she  was  tempted  to  fly,  until  she  saw  that  all  was 
peaceful  around  her,  and  that  her  own  family  shouted 
with  the  rest.  She  sank  to  her  feet  with  burning  cheeks; 
and  her  mother,  seeing  that  she  had  made  some  strange 
mistake,  put  her  arm.  around  her  and  whispered:  "They 
are  only  singing,  dear,  singing  the  psalm." 

Then  Meg  was  pacified,  but  little  wiser  as  yet.  Few 
had  noticed  the  maiden's  act,  except  those  quite  near  her 
seat;  some  of  whom,  having  had  civilized  and  not  Indian 
training,  could  not  control  their  faces,  and  showed  signs 
of  merriment.  But  this  first  experience  gave  Meg  a  dis 
relish  for  psalm  singing  which  was  long  in  wearing  away. 

The  remainder  of  the  service  passed  without  incident 
and  almost  without  interest,  as  far  as  Meg  was  concerned. 
No  word,  at  least  no  thought  of  the  sermon,  did  she  com 
prehend.  Yet  those  who  from  time  to  time  glanced  at  the 
maid  were  much  moved  at  the  signs  of  rapt  attention  in  her 
steadfast  and  reverent  attitude.  The  preacher,  too,  noted 
it,  drawn  by  that  mysterious  fascination  which  attracts  pub 
lic  speakers  toward  an  attentive  hearer.  She  did  not  shift 
uneasily  in  her  pew,  or  glance  here  and  there,  or  yawn,  or 
play  with  the  pages  of  Bible  or  Psalm  Book,  as  many  civil 
ized  Christians  are  wont  to  do.  Like  an  Indian  auditor, 
she  gave  respectful  hearing  until  the  speaker  ended  his 
sermon,  which  passed  the  hour,  that  day. 

The  one  morsel  of  light  that  reached  Meg's  mind,  came 
from  the  Scripture  reading.  The  Gospel  lesson  was  the 
XVth  of  St.  Luke.  The  parable  of  the  lost  sheep  and  the 
parable  of  the  woman's  lost  coin,  and  that  "pearl  of  the 
parables,"  the  Prodigal  Son,  held  her  mind  enchained  to 
the  reader's  lips  until  the  story  ended.  Unconsciously,  she 
threw  her  own  personality  into  the  characters;  and  espe 
cially  saw,  in  the  despoiled  lad  in  the  far  country,  her  own 
wretched  state  when  prisoner  among  the  Shawnees.  Then 
came  the  return  home — the  good  father's  welcome — the 
merry-making — the  new  clothes — the  feasting.  Imagina 
tion  eliminated  all  the  facts  foreign  to  her  case,  and  trans 
fused  the  incidents  with  her  own  happenings,  so  that  no 
matter  what  the  clergyman  read,  it  was  Meg,  once  lost, 
now  found,  that  moved  through  the  scenes. 


THE   LATIMERS.  355 

And  that  good  father! — was  he  not  here  by  her  side? 
Ay,  and  surely  the  good  mother,  too;  for  Meg  supplied  that 
seeming  omission  in  the  story.  But  there  was  no  grudging 
and  grumbling  brother,  ah  no!  She  dismissed  that  fellow 
with  scorn;  for  her  brother  was  dear  John,  so  brave,  so 
generous,  so  kind! 

Behind  the  imagery,  too,  although  the  Image  was  not 
clearly  limned,  moved  another  and  a  higher  form,  even 
the  Great  Spirit  whom  she  had  learned  in  her  mother's 
first  bedside  prayer  to  know  as  the  Good  Father  in  Heaven. 
It  needed  no  ministerial  finger  to  point  out  this  Gracious 
Presence;  but  the  Doctor  seemed  to  bring  Him  more  closely 
to  her  mind's  eye  by  the  words  of  explanation  that  he 
dropped,  here  and  there,  as  he  read  on.  She  saw,  and  wor 
shipped  with  a  heart  brim  full  of  gratitude  for  her  restora 
tion  to  a  home  so  sweet,  to  friends  so  true,  to  happiness  so 
great,  to  a  hope  which  in  the  dark  days  of  captivity  had 
well  nigh  been  quenched.  Perhaps,  in  the  eye  of  Heaven, 
there  was  no  more  acceptable  worship  in  the  Hill  Sanc 
tuary,  that  day,  than  this  simple  homage  of  the  untaught 
maid. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

EN  KOUTE  TO  THE  CAMP  AT  CARLISLE. 

The  Western  Counties'  Convention  that  had  met  at 
Parkinson's  Ferry,  reassembled  October  2d  at  the  same 
place.  It  was  composed  of  delegates  from  the  various 
townships  of  the  six  counties  involved  in  the  anti-excise 
disorders.  The  meeting  was  temperate,  loyal  and  concilia 
tory.  Mr.  Findley,  a  Representative  in  Congress,  and 
David  Reddick  were  appointed  special  Deputies  to  wait 
upon  President  Washington,  either  at  Philadelphia,  the 
seat  of  government,  or  at  Carlisle  camp,  to  assure  him  of 
the  willing  submission  of  the  people,  and  dissuade  him 
from  sending  an  armed  force  west  of  the  mountains. 

The  "Army  of  the  Western  Expedition,"  as  it  was  offi 
cially  called,  was  already  encamped  in  several  divisions  on 
the  eastern  foothills  of  the  Alleghenies.  The  Maryland 
Brigade,  under  General  Smith,  was  at  Williamsport.  The 
Virginia  troops,  commanded  by  General  Morgan,  the 


356  THE    LATIMERS. 

famous  Kevolutionary  hero  of  Cowpens,  was  at  Fort  Cum 
berland,  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac.  The  brigades  of 
New  Jersey,  under  General  Howell,  and  of  Pennsylvania, 
under  Generals  Irvine  and  Chambers,  were  encamped  at 
Carlisle  where  Washington  had  his  headquarters. 

To  Carlisle,  therefore,  Messrs.  Findley  and  Reddick 
prepared  to  go  to  lay  the  people's  commission  before  his 
Excellency.  John  Latimer  had  ridden  over  to  the  Parkin 
son's  Ferry  meeting  with  a  message  from  his  father,  and 
was  invited  and  urged  to  accompany  the  Deputies  as  secre 
tary.  John  felt  it  his  duty  to  accept,  conditioned  upon  his 
father's  approval.  Luke,  who  had  now  so  far  recovered 
from  the  effect  of  the  Testing  riot  as  to  be  able  to  go  about 
the  house,  not  only  approved,  but  insisted  upon  his  accept 
ing,  and  John  prepared  to  set  out. 

The  Deputies  had  asked  him  to  engage  some  suitable 
person  to  attend  the  party  as  guide  and  general  factotum, 
a  post  which  was  forthwith  offered  to  Mr.  Andy  Burbeck 
and  accepted.  The  season  was  the  halycon  time  of  the 
American  year.  The  air  was  balmy,  the  trees  aflame  with 
autumn  colors,  and  the  haze  of  October  hung  its  veil  above 
hills  and  valleys. 

The  beauty  of  nature  may  temper  human  fears  and 
soothe  a  mind  disturbed,  but  it  cannot  remove  the  irritat 
ing  causes  of  trouble.  The  Deputies  were  weighed  down 
with  a  sense  of  their  responsibility,  a  feeling  which  John 
fully  shared,  and  to  which  Andy  was  not  indifferent. 
Their  anxiety  was  increased  by  the  rumors  which  met  them 
as  they  advanced.  They  heard  that  the  army  was  in  an 
ungovernable  rage  against  the  people  of  the  Western 
Counties.  The  soldiers  denounced  them  one  and  all  as 
guilty,  and  made  mighty  threats  what  they  would  do 
when  they  once  got  to  the  rank  land  of  traitors. 

One  evening  the  delegation  chanced  to  be  belated  in 
reaching  Hartley's,  a  wayside  inn  beyond  Bedford,  at  which 
they  had  meant  to  put  up  for  the  night.  The  curling 
smoke  of  a  fire  amidst  a  clump  of  oaks,  marked  where  a 
party  was  bivouaced  on  the  banks  of  Raystown  Branch. 

"Why  not  take  pot  luck  with  the  campers  for  the 
night?"  suggested  John. 

"Will  we  be  welcome?" 

"Surely!"  was  the  reply.  "Backwoods  hospitality  is 
boundless.  You  will  find  no  true  forester  so  churlish  as 


THE    LATIMERS.  357 

to  chase  the  belated  traveller  or  hunter  from  his  camp. 
But  these  folks  are  probably  emigrants,  and  therefore 
eager  to  greet  strangers  who  can  tell  them  somewhat  about 
the  new  land  to  which  they  are  bound." 

"Well,  then/'  said  Deputy  Findley,  "go  forward  with 
the  guide  and  reconnoitre/7 

"Ay/7  quoth  Andy.  "It  is  iver  better  to  look  afore  you 
lape."  The  two  galloped  to  a  low  rise  in  the  road,  whence 
they  got  a  nearer  view  of  the  bivouac. 

"They  are  soldiers!"  exclaimed  John. 

"It's  soldiers  they  are!"  echoed  Andy.  "Bad  cess  til  it! 
The  army's  got  intil  the  mountains  a'  ready,  an'  here's  the 
vanguard.  Our  honorable  Deputies  may  as  well  turn  tail 
an'  get  them  back  to  their  deputes.  A'  misdoubt  they'll  have 
their  labor  for  their  pains.  The  rubicund  is  crossed! — as 
the  toper  said,  when  the  rim  of  his  drinking  cup  touched 
the  bridge  of  his  red  nose.  We're  in  for  a  campaign,  and 
Heaven  only  knows  what  trouble  and  losses." 

"No,  no,  Andy;  you  must  be  wrong.  The  army  is  still 
safe  enough  in  Carlisle.  Our  advices  make  that  beyond  a 
doubt.  But  I  can't  guess  who  these  fellows  are;  so  we 
shall  take  no  risk,  and  wait  till  the  Deputies  come  up." 

These  gentlemen  concluded  to  ride  boldly  forward  and 
take  their  chances.  Coming  into  the  camp,  and  being  halted 
by  the  sentinel,  they  called  for  the  commanding  officer. 
Thereupon  who  should  appear  but  Lieutenant  now  Cap 
tain  Ruel  Burd,  who  greeted  John  cordially,  and  gave 
hearty  welcome  to  the  Deputies. 

The  presence  of  soldiers  west  of  the  mountains  was  soon 
explained.  Capt.  Burd  had  been  sent  to  Philadelphia  on 
recruiting  service  for  the  Army  of  the  Frontier,  and  had 
got  thus  far  on  his  return  journey  with  a  battalion  of 
recruits  for  Wayne's  Legion.  While  Andy  looked  after  the 
horses,  the  Deputies  were  shown  to  the  tent  in  which  they 
had  been  assigned  quarters,  and  John  fell  into  conversation 
with  Capt.  Burd.  He  learned  that  both  officers  and  men 
lamented  the  hard  luck  that  had  detained  them  from  the 
excitement  and  honors  of  the  Indian  campaign.  Capt. 
Burd  was  especially  chagrined  that  such  an  opportunity 
for  duty  and  distinction  had  escaped  him. 

Perhaps,  John  suggested,  with  a  smile,  there  was  some 
compensation  in  Miss  Oldham's  presence  in  the  capital 
city?  For  his  part,  there  was  more  than  one  occasion  on 


358  THE   LATIMEES. 

which  he  would  have  gladly  exchanged  his  share  of  the 
honors  of  the  day  for  a  far  less  valuable  price  than  a  glance 
of  her  bright  eyes.  No  doubt,  Capt.  Burd  had  seen  Miss 
Oldham,  and  he  ventured  to  hope  had  found  her  well? 

Yes,  he  had  seen  her  often,  as  she  had  gone  back  to 
Philadelphia  shortly  after  the  Bower  Hill  affair.  She  was 
well,  and  as  charming  as  ever,  and  had  often  talked  of  her 
exciting  western  experiences. 

John  longed  to  push  his  queries  further,  and  find  out, 
if  he  might  do  so,  whether  he  had  any  place  in  these  con 
versations?-  And  if  so,  what  impression  Blanche  had  got 
as  to  his  unlucky  part  in  the  riot?  But  he  would  not  ask 
outright,  and  scorned  to  seek  information  by  finesse  and 
indirection.  Nay,  he  would  not  have  Capt.  Burd  suspect 
that  he  was  thus  exercised,  though  indeed  there  seemed 
no  reason  for  that  feeling.  Should  not  every  true  man  be 
concerned  to  stand  well  with  those  whom  he  esteems?  So 
he  reflected,  and  inwardly  chafed;  but  kept  silent  upon 
that  point,  and  changing  the  subject  asked  if  Gen.  Neville 
was  with  the  army. 

Capt.  Burd  believed  that  he  was,  or  at  least  would  join 
it  at  Bedford  and  accompany  it  to  Pittsburg.  He  was  nat 
urally  highly  inflamed  against  those  who  had  destroyed 
his  home,  and  caused  the  banishment  of  himself  and 
friends.  He  would  not  rebuild  at  his  old  Bower  Hill  seat, 
but  had  bought  on  Montour's  Island  below  Pittsburg,  and 
intended  to  make  a  home  there  for  his  closing  years. 

The  Deputies  now  joined  them,  and  asked:  "What  is 
the  feeling  in  the  army  toward  the  Western  people?" 

"Most  unfriendly,"  was  the  answer;  "especially  among 
the  volunteers  and  substitutes.  The  militia  who  responded 
to  the  call  for  their  services,  have  greater  sympathy  with 
the  people.  But  even  they  are  in  bad  humor  over  the  loss 
involved  by  absence  from  farms  and  business,  and  are 
vexed  with  those  who  have  compelled  this  sacrifice." 

"Do  they  not  understand  that  only  a  part  of  the  people 
have  been  concerned  in  the  riots  and  disorders?" 

"They  are  quite  ignorant  of  the  details.  They  count 
all  the  population  of  the  Western  Survey  as  insurgents. 
The  Bower  Hill  fight  and  Braddock's  Field  muster  have 
been  painted  in  high  colors  by  orators  who  stumped  the 
States  for  volunteers.  I  think  most  of  the  soldiers  have  an 
idea  that  they  are  to  meet  a  large  army  of  frontier  riflemen: 


THE   LATIMERS.  359 

They  count  on  serious  work,  and  many  young  men 
have  great  ambition  to  distinguish  themselves  as  their 
fathers  did  in  the  war  for  Independence." 

"Can't  the  officers  control  their  troops?"  asked  Deputy 
Findley.  "They  are  men  of  experience  for  the  most  part, 
and  ought  to  restrain  their  men  from  violence." 

"No  doubt;  and  they  are  trying  to  do  it.  The  majority 
of  the  troops  consist  of  men  of  good  character  and  position; 
but  there  is  no  denying  that  there  is  a  lot  of  riff-raff  among 
them,  hired  substitutes  from  Philadelphia  and  vicinity, 
who  are  in  for  the  pay  and  bounty  and  hope  of  plunder. 
They  are  the  chaps  who  usually  start  the  trouble,  and  you 
know  how  it  is  in  all  organized  bodies.  There  is  a  bond 
of  sympathy  and  a  clannish  spirit  that  leads  one  to  stand 
by  his  comrade,  even  if  he  is  wrong. 

"Besides,  it  always  takes  some  time  to  get  large  num 
bers  of  men,  coming  from  various  sections  and  conditions, 
especially  when  they  are  out  for  a  short  expedition, 
wrought  into  homogeneous  shape,  so  that  all  will  respond 
quickly  and  freely  to  one  will.  I  have  heard  that,  at  one 
time,  some  of  the  regiments  at  Carlisle  were  in  such  a 
mutinous  temper,  that  other  troops  had  to  be  called  out 
to  overawe  them,  and  for  a  time  it  looked  as  if  they  would 
expend  their  military  ardor  upon  one  another.  However, 
President  Washington's  arrival  put  matters  to  rights,  and 
the  firm  action  of  Generals  Chambers  and  Irvine  convinced 
the  disorderly  that  discipline  would  be  enforced." 

"What  kind  of  a  reception  would  the  Deputies  be  likely 
to  get?"  asked  John. 

Capt.  Burd  hesitated.  "That  will  depend  upon  your 
selves,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  Deputies.  "At  all  events, 
gentlemen,  you  have  only  to  do  your  duty,  as  you  under 
stand  it;  and  in  all  times  of  civil  disorder  such  con 
duct  has  its  perils  as  well  as  its  rewards."  In  that  senti 
ment  the  Deputies  heartily  agreed,  and  resolved  to  go  for 
ward  upon  their  patriotic  and  merciful  errand. 

When  the  drums  beat  tattoo, the  Deputies  retired  to  the 
tent  assigned  them  as  guests  of  distinction.  Andy  was  led 
off  by  the  sergeants,  and  Capt.  Burd  shared  his  tent  with 
John.  Long  after  taps  had  sounded  for  lights  to  be 
quenched,  and  silence  had  fallen  on  the  camp,  the  two 
young  men  lay  side  by  side  discussing,  in  low  tones,  the 
threatening  affairs  that  overhung  the  new  Eepublic,  with 


360  THE    LATIMERS. 

that  happy  blending  of  sympathy  and  divergence  of  temper 
and  opinion  which  gives  both  interest  and  satisfaction  to 
conversation.  From  national  events  and  men  they  passed 
to  reminiscence;  to  the  lighter  news  and  gossip  of  army 
and  society;  to  the  charms  of  forest  life;  to  the  bayonet 
as  an  effective  arm,  and  Mad  Anthony  Wayne's  use  of  it 
against  the  Indians  at  Fallen  Timbers;  to  the  superiority 
of  the  long  American  rifle  for  both  infantry  and  cavalry; 
to  the  shooting  match  at  Legionville;  to — well,  to  a  dozen 
matters  that  just  bordered  upon  the  one  subject  that  was 
uppermost  in  both  minds,  but  which  neither  cared  to 
touch  upon — Blanche  Oldham. 

Is  it  not  commonly  believed  that  men  cannot  be  gener 
ous  rivals  for  the  affection  of  a  woman?  Is  it  not  held 
that  sexual  love  is  a  selfish  passion  which  consumes  friend 
ship  and  all  kindly  sentiments,  and  kindles  the  basilar 
passions  against  opposition,  and  converts  human  beings, 
whether  male  or  female,  into  ravening  beasts  ?  "All  things 
are  fair  in  love  or  war,"  is  a  motto  so  commonly  approved, 
that  one  expects  but  halting  courtesy  to  the  statement  that 
two  men  of  normal  masculinity,  and  more  than  average 
vigor  of  mind  and  body,  and  by  habit  and  profession  war 
riors,  could  love  the  same  woman,  yet  cherish  towards  one 
another  feelings  free  from  malice  and  prejudice  and  hos 
tility,  and  over  which  no  shadow  of  a  dishonorable  thought 
had  fallen  or  could  fall. 

Here  lay  two  men,  sharing  the  same  rude  couch,  each 
of  whom  believed  the  other  to  be  the  only  one  who  could  mar 
his  hopes  of  winning  a  noble  lady's  affection.  Yet  neither 
one  of  them  would  have  been  guilty  of  a  dishonorable  act 
toward  the  other,  though  thereby  he  could  have  won  the 
coveted  prize.  As  Capt.  Burd  and  John  Latimer  talked, 
that  night,  and  opened  up  mutual  glimpses  of  character, 
each  saw  qualities  that  seemed  to  make  his  rival  more 
formidable.  And  the  two  hearts  were  drawn  closer  rather 
than  repelled  by  the  revelation.  Their  common  affection 
seemed  to  unite  them,  instead  of  separating;  as  kindred 
bits  of  steel  are  joined  to  one  another  by  the  magnet  which 
attracts  them  both.  The  interchanges  of  that  evening 
sealed  a  friendship  that,  although  severely  strained  by  un 
expected  events  swiftly  rushing  upon  them,  was  never 
broken. 

It  was  midnight  ere  they  said  good-night,  and  each 


THE   LATIMERS.  361. 

wrapped  in  his  own  blanket  turned  to  sleep,  lulled  by  the 
splash  and  gurgle  of  the  mountain  brook  on  whose  banks 
their  tent  was  pitched.  At  last  John  slept;  yet,  a  new  ex 
perience  for  him,  his  sleep  was  troubled  by  dreams.  One 
dream  was  so  vivid  that  it  awoke  him.  He  was  sitting  up 
with  hands  outstretched,  and  his  heart  throbbing  rapidly. 
A  brand  had  just  fallen  from  the  camp  fire  with  a  sharp 
thud  upon  the  coals  and  ashes  beneath,  and  kindling  by  its 
fall,  shot  a  lurid  streak  across  the  tent  door.  Thereat  a 
night  owl  darted  from  a  neighboring  tree,  with  a  mournful 
hoo-to-hoo!  These  sounds  made  more  gruesome  and  in 
tense  the  vision  that  had  startled  him;  it  may  be  they  had 
given  bent  or  even  suggestion  to  it. 

It  seemed  to  him,  in  his  dream,  that  he  was  walking 
with  his  father  along  the  edge  of  a  mountain  cliff.  Sud 
denly  the  ground  crumbled  beneath  their  feet,  carrying  his 
father  with  it  towards  the  chasm.  He  threw  himself  flat 
down,  and  reached  forth  in  frantic  effort  to  save  him.  In 
vain!  Both  men  were  sinking  into  the  deep  gorge.  John 
saw  the  black  depth,  and  far  down  the  rocks  and  roaring 
waters.  The  horror  of  death  seized  upon  him.  Then  a 
woman's  form  appeared  upon  the  scene,  mysteriously  as 
such  things  happen  in  dreams,  and  laying  hands  upon 
him  as  he  was  gliding  over  the  brink,  pulled  him  back,  and 
he,  clinging  to  his  father,  drew  him  also  from  peril.  He 
turned  to  look  at  his  rescuer.  It  was  Blanche  Oldham! 
He  tried  to  utter  his  thanks,  but  speech  failed  him. 
He  held  out  his  arms  in  an  impulse  of  grateful  love.  The 
figure,  as  by  the  touch  of  magic,  was  transformed  into  a 
cloud;  and  from  a  cloud  again  into  a  human  shape;  and  as 
he  gazed,  lo!  it  was  Fanny  McCormack  that  he  held  in  his 
grasp!  He  could  not  sleep  again.  He  cast  one  glance 
at  Capt.  Burd  who,  with  his  shapely  head  resting  on 
one  arm  and  a  smile  upon  his  handsome  face,  slept  soundly, 
and  then  noiselessly  left  the  tent. 

"He  is  dreaming  of  love,  or  honor,  or  home!"  muttered 
John,  as  he  walked  toward  the  brook.  "Brighter  dreams 
than  mine,  at  least!  Dreaming?  Is  there  anything  in 
dreams?  No!  Something  in  the  mess  last  night  didn't 
agree  with  me.  Yet — hugh!"  He  shuddered  as  he 
thought  of  the  horror  of  the  situation,  so  real  had  it  all 
seemed,  from  which  he  had  been  rescued.  "Curious,  too! 
I  could  have  sworn  that  it  was  Blanche  Oldham  that  saved 


362  THE   LATIMEES. 

us.  Yet,  when  I  awoke,  it  seemed  to  be  Fanny.  I  wonder 
if  all  is  well  at  home?" 

The  first  streakings  of  dawn  were  tinging  the  east. 
The  autumn  birds  were  beginning  their  matins.  John 
bathed  his  face  and  neck  and  chest  in  the  cool  waters  of 
the  creek,  and  swung  his  naked  arms  in  the  air  until  they 
were  dried.  Thus  refreshed  he  sat  down  upon  a  mossy 
boulder  and  watched  the  awakening  of  day  until  the  camp 
began  to  stir.  The  crisp  air  of  the  October  morning  was 
cool  enough  to  rob  the  rude  camp  couch  of  some  of  its 
comfort,  and  the  reveille  found  few  stragglers  among  offi 
cers  and  men.  Soon  the  work  of  striking  tents,  and  clear 
ing  away  for  the  march  filled  the  air  with  the  pleasant  din 
of  breaking  camp.  Ere  it  was  done  the  Deputies'  party 
had  prepared  for  their  journey,  and  with  thanks,  and  good 
words,  and  warm  wishes  for  mutual  welfare  the  chance 
companions  of  the  night  exchanged  farewells. 

As  they  passed  the  crest  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  and  entered 
the  beautiful  and  fertile  Cumberland  Valley,  they  came 
upon  numerous  traces  of  the  army.  The  wide  road  was 
dotted  with  herds  of  cattle  which  Bullock-Master  Davis 
Scarlett  was  forwarding  towards  Bedford  for  the  use  of  the 
troops.  Here  and  there  lines  of  wagons,  freighted  with 
flour  and  whiskey,  soap  and  salt,  and  other  commissary 
supplies,  plodded  along  westward  over  the  heavy  roadway. 

Herdsmen  hallooed  at  their  charges,  and  thwacked  and 
prodded  them  with  their  goads,  and  with  screams  and 
curses  followed  them  up  the  trails  and  byroads  into  which 
they  were  constantly  diverging.  The  wagoners  thrashed 
their  teams,  and  fired  at  them  those  volleys  of  oaths  which 
from  time  immemorial  have  been  held  an  essential  motor 
in  advancing  army  trains.  Herders  and  teamsters  curi 
ously  eyed  our  travellers,  and  now  and  then  a  question 
was  asked.  But  for  the  most  part  they  passed  unnoticed. 

To  their  left  the  South  Mountain  skirted  the  valley 
with  its  ridge  of  hazy  blue.  On  the  right  the  North 
Mountain  showed  in  clearer  outline,  with  McClure's  Notch 
sharply  cut  against  the  sky.  The  road  ran  almost  straight 
through  the  Walnut  Bottom,  which  now  gives  its  name 
to  the  Great  Eoad  as  it  nears  Carlisle.  On  either  side 
were  stately  growths  of  walnut  and  hickory,  and  long 
strips  of  oak  woods  straggled  across  the  valley,  whose 
foliage  glowed  in  various  shades  of  yellow  and  russet  red. 


THE   LATIMERS.  363 

The  travellers  stopped  for  inquiry  and  refreshment  at 
a  tavern,  long  ago  destroyed  by  fire,  and  whose  site  still 
bears  the  name  of  "Burnt  House."  But  as  the  capacious 
stableyard  was  filled  with  wagons,  and  the  taproom 
and  premises  crowded  with  teamsters  and  herders,  they 
pushed  on  a  mile  further,  and  took  quarters  for  the  night 
at  a  capacious  limestone  house,  in  the  midst  of  a  grove  of 
silver  maple  and  walnut  trees  that  skirted  the  roadside. 
It  still  stands  in  good  condition,  though  long  since  trans 
formed  from  a  tavern  to  a  farmhouse. 

No  incident  of  special  interest  marked  the  journey 
until  they  halted  at  the  tavern.  During  the  last  day's 
travel  the  air  had  been  thick  with  rumors  of  the  hostile 
spirit  of  the  army,  part  of  which  had  already  begun  to  move 
westward  toward  Bedford.  Without  revealing  their  official 
errand  the  Deputies  passed  for  travellers  going  to  Phila 
delphia.  When  the  landlord  learned  that  they  were  from 
the  Western  counties,  he  expressed  great  alarm,  and 
pressed  them  to  abandon  the  thought  of  going  to  Carlisle. 

After  consideiation,  it  was  agreed  that  John  and  Andy 
should  enter  the  town  with  a  letter  from  the  Deputies  to 
President  Washington,  explaining  the  situation,  and  ask 
ing  him  if  they  should  advance.  John  was  to  appear  in  his 
uniform  and  character  as  one  of  Wayne's  scouts,  coming 
with  a  message  to  Gen.  Washington,  which,  it  was  sup 
posed,  would  at  once  disarm  suspicion.  Andy  also  assumed 
the  role  of  a  scout  and  frontier  boatman  connected  with 
the  Western  army,  and  hoped  to  get  on  easily  enough, 
as  he  had  done  occasional  service  in  both  relations. 

"Heaven  presarve  us  from  fallin'  in  with  Giner'l  Ni- 
ville!"  said  Andy,  as  they  set  forth.  "If  the  old  man  claps 
•eyes  on  us,  we  '11  hardly  git  out  of  this  scrape  with  whole 
skins.  Pl'ase  God,  A'  hope  he  hasn't  yit  got  to  Carlisle.'' 


364  THE    LATIMEES. 

CHAPTEE  XXXIX. 

JOHN  LATIMER  MEETS  WASHINGTON  AND  HAMILTON. 

Carlisle  was  at  that  period  an  important  point  in  the 
central  line  of  traffic  and  emigration  between  the  East 
and  the  far  border.  It  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  mili 
tary  station.  The  troops  of  Pennsylvania  and  New  Jersey 
were  encamped  in  the  Commons  or  open  spaces  along  the 
north  bank  of  Le  Tort  Creek.  As  John  and  Andy  entered 
the  town,  regiments  were  being  mustered  for  evening 
dress  parade.  It  was  a  gay  and  animated  scene;  but  it  had 
a  sad  echo  within  the  hearts  of  the  two  scouts,  who  thought 
of  the  purpose  of  this  martial  display. 

The  horses  were  put  up  at  the  Black  Bear  Tavern,  a 
two-story  limestone  house  on  Hanover  Street,  not  far  from 
the  President's  headquarters.  John  learned  that  Gen. 
Washington  could  not  be  seen  until  the  evening,  and  after 
supper  mixed  with  the  crowd  of  officers  who  frequented 
the  tavern.  Andy  had  taken  pains  to  make  known  John's 
part  in  the  battle  of  Fallen  Timbers,  and  that  he  bore  a 
message  to  the  President,  discreetly  omitting  further  de 
tails.  John  therefore  found  himself  an  object  of  much 
interest  and  no  suspicion,  and  freely  satisfied  curiosity  as 
to  Wayne's  army  and  the  Indians.  Inquiries  about  the 
insurgents  which  followed,  he  answered  guardedly;  and,  as 
far  as  he  could  without  awakening  opposition,  tried  to 
soften  the  officers'  feelings  toward  their  fellow  citizens  of 
the  Western  counties.  But  mindful  of  his  instructions  to 
find  out  the  army  sentiment,  he  rather  encouraged  others 
to  talk,  which  they  were  free  enough  to  do. 

"See  here!"  said  Capt.  Cuttan  Swing,  entering  the 
circle  in  a  highly  excited  state  of  mind.  "Here's  a  pretty 
how-de-do!  I've  just  got  a  Carlisle  paper  which  reports 
the  coming  of  the  rebel  Deputies,  and  their  errand  to  the 
President.  They  want,  forsooth,  to  prevent  the  march  of 
the  army  to  the  Monongahela.  A  pretty  pass  that  would 
be!  After  our  hard  marching  and  rough  fare,  our  loss  of 
time  and  business,  our  sufferings  and  sacrifices,  to  lose  the 
satisfaction  of  meeting  the  enemy!  We  won't  stand  such 
fooling;  not  we!  Could  we  once  get  our  hands  upon  these 


THE    LATIMEBS.  365 

Deputies,  and  all  other  intriguers  and  rebel  leaders,  they 
should  be  shot  or  hung  to  the  first  tree!" 

"Ay;  let  us  once  come  face  to  face  with  the  insurgents!" 
cried  Ensign  McKillen,  a  sallow-cheeked  youth  with  pim 
ples  and  bow  legs.  Thereupon  he  clapped  hand  to  his  sword 
which  plainly  he  had  not  been  used  to  wear.  "By  all  that's 
good  and  bad,  I  swear  there  'd  be  no  need  of  judges  and 
jury.  Let  's  only  see  the  men,  and  we'll  skewer  'em!" 

Gen.  Ledger  Bloodson,  a  little  way  from  this  circle  of 
juniors,  was  venting  his  displeasure  at  the  President  for 
encouraging,  as  he  had  understood  he  had  done,  the  ad 
vances  of  the  Deputies.  He  walked  back  and  forth  before 
the  tavern  window,  and  railed  at  Washington  for  his  mis 
judged  clemency.  "No  treaty  with  traitors!"  he  cried. 
"No  confabs  and  no  compromises!  Powder  and  ball,  sword 
and  bayonet,  prison  and  confiscation, — that's  the  remedy 
for  insurrection!  The  President  has  gone  too  far  in  coun 
tenancing  the  insurgents;  and  he  will  never  recover  the 
popularity  he  has  lost  by  doing  so." 

"I  say!"  exclaimed  Lieut.  Meneter,  turning  rather 
sharply  to  John.  "Mr.  ah — Mr.  Scout,  did  you  happen 
to  meet  these  fellows  on  your  way  from  Fort  Pitt?" 

"Yes,"  John  answered  quietly.  "I  saw  them  at  a 
tavern  on  the  road  some  distance  back.  I  dare  say  they 
will  soon  arrive  in  town." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of.  such  impudence!  They  oughtn't 
to  be  allowed  to  come  into  camp.  They  ought  to  have 
their  infernal  rebel  necks  twisted  from  the  nearest  tree." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  John,  quietly  looking  down  upon  the 
swaggering  blusterer,  "you  and  Gen.  Washington  for  it, 
then.  I  understand  that  these  Deputies  from  the  Western 
Counties  are  under  the  special  protection  of  the  President. 
I  wouldn't  think  it  wholesome,  for  my  part,  to  meddle  with 
them,  until  I  had  first  settled  matters  with  him.  More 
over,  from  what  I  learn,  they  come  to  sue  for  peace,  and 
make  peaceful  submission,  and  therefore  have  all  the  privi 
leges  of  a  flag  of  truce." 

It  was  hard  for  John  to  hold  his  peace,  and  harder 
still  to  disguise  his  feelings  at  hearing  these  babblings  of 
ill-informed  men,  whose  hearts  were  full  of  pride  and 
ignorance;  and  the  mouthings  of  blustering  blades  who 
talked  of  worthy  men  and  women  as  though  they  were 
rats.  He  longed  to  prick  their  inflated  braggadocio,  and 


366  THE   LATIMEKS. 

lest  his  temper  should  wax  too  hot,  hastened  to  withdraw. 
Throwing  over  his  hunting  shirt  a  long  military  cloak,  he 
sauntered  forth.  He  walked  the  streets,  and  wandered 
around  the  camps  until  the  evening  dusk  admonished  him 
that  the  time  drew  near  for  his  interview  with  the  Presi 
dent.  Then  he  turned  towards  headquarters. 

An  officer  passed  him  and  saluted.  "Good  evening, 
Major!"  he  exclaimed,  and  checking  his  pace,  added:  "Does 
your  regiment  move  to-morrow?" 

John  paused,  and  dropped  his  cloak,  with  which  he  had 
muffled  his  face.  "Excuse  me,  sir,  did  you  speak  to  me?" 

The  officer  stopped,  hesitated  a  moment,  and  replied: 
"Certainly  I  spoke,  old  fellow!  What  the  deuce's  the 
matter  with  you?  Oh! — I  crave  your  pardon! — I  see  I  was 
mistaken.  I  took  you  for —  (John  did  not  catch  the  name). 
I  ask  your  pardon."  Again  saluting,  the  officer  walked  on. 

John  slowly  approached  Washington's  headquarters. 
His  emotions  were  highly  wrought  up  with  the  thought 
of  meeting  this  great  man.  Since  he  had  been  able  to 
think  for  himself,  he  had  venerated  the  very  name  of  the 
Father  of  his  Country.  His  stainless  honor,  his  blameless 
character,  the  quenchless  ardor  of  his  patriotism,  his 
dauntless  courage,  his  patience  in  adversity,  his  fertility  in 
expedients,  his  self-sacrifice  for  his  country,  his  ardent 
love  of  liberty, — of  these  the  young  man  knew,  as  did  all 
the  nation  and  all  the  world.  To  the  force  and  dignity  of 
this  noble  personality;  to  the  equipoise  of  all  his  faculties 
which  gave  a  fullness  of  manhood  that  enabled  him  to  meet 
all  situations  with  ability,  and  many  with  success;  to  the 
majesty  and  purity  and  immovability  of  his  convictions 
and  purposes, — the  colonies  owed  their  independence  and 
the  Eepublic  its  autonomy. 

With  all  the  strength  and  fervor  of  his  youth,  and  fine 
enthusiasm  of  his  nature,  John  honored  and  loved  this 
exalted  character,  the  Chief  of  the  American  Eepublic, 
the  worthiest  citizen  of  the  world.  No  wonder  that,  as 
he  approached  the  headquarters  of  the  Commander-in- 
chief,  his  feet  moved  more  slowly,  his  heart  beat  more 
quickly,  and  his  mind  was  overawed  at  the  thought  that 
he  was  soon  to  stand  face  to  face  with  Washington. 

The  headquarters  of  the  President  had  been  fixed  in  a 
house  adjacent  to  the  residence  of  Col.  Ephraim  Elaine, 
which  stood  at  the  northeast  angle  of  the  Town  Square  and 


THE   LATIMERS.  367 

Hanover  Street.  In  the  corner  house  the  President  and  his 
staff  were  served  with  their  meals.  As  Mrs.  Elaine  was  an 
invalid,  Miss  Susan  Elaine  presided  at  the  table,  every 
morning  riding  in  along  Green  Lane  for  that  hospitable 
duty  from  her  house  on  Conodoquinet  Creek.  The  offices 
of  the  army  headquarters  were  in  the  adjacent  house, 
which  also  was  the  property  of  Col.  Elaine,  and  which 
like  its  neighbor  was  a  two-story  limestone  building.  Its 
mahogany  stairway  and  panelled  walls  gave  token  that  the 
taste  and  luxury  of  the  older  settlements  were  already  press 
ing  hard  upon  the  borders  of  civilization. 

As  John  drew  near,  the  sentinel  before  the  door  instead 
of  halting  him,  as  he  had  expected,  came  to  a  present  arms, 
and  stood  as  if  expecting  him  to  pass  on  unchallenged. 
"Strange!"  he  muttered.  "How  does  this  sentinel  know 
me,  and  that  I  have  liberty  to  call  on  his  Excellency?"  He 
passed  the  guard,  but  with  lagging  pace  as  fully  expecting 
to  be  recalled,  and  moved  on  toward  the  open  door,  at  which 
a  captain  in  full  uniform  was  in  attendance. 

Ere  John  had  time  to  explain  his  mission,  and  whilo 
fumbling  for  his  letter  from  the  Deputies,  the  officer  spoke. 
"Good  evening,  Major!  Pass  right  in.  I  think  Secretary 
Hamilton  is  expecting  you."  So  saying,  he  stepped  to  one 
side,  and  waved  John  to  enter.  Then  turning  to  a  sentinel 
who  stood  before  the  door  to  the  left  of  the  hall,  he  bade 
him  admit  the  gentleman  at  once. 

John  seemed  as  in  a  dream.  AVhat  could  all  this  mean? 
And  that  title  again!  What  strange  mistake  was  here? 
Or,  was  it  all  a  sort  of  masking  to  disguise  his  office  as  mes 
senger,  and  conceal  the  fact  of  Washington's  communica< 
tion  with  the  Deputies  of  the  Insurgents?  A  nonsensical 
thought,  that!  He  must  explain, — 

But  the  captain  in  attendance  was  already  engaged  in 
conversation  with  some  newcomer.  The  guard  before  the 
Secretary's  door  had  thrown  it  open,  and  by  an  impulse 
that  he  seemed  unable  to  resist,  John  was  borne  on  and  into 
the  room.  At  a  desk  which  was  lighted  by  two  candles  sat 
a  man  much  below  the  average  height.  He  was  writing, 
as  the  door  opened,  and  not  looking  up  at  once,  John  \vas 
able  to  note  his  appearance. 

Though  small,  he  was  well  made,  of  light  and  active  build. 
His  head  was  massive  and  finely  shaped,  its  symmetry  and 


368  THE  LATIMEES. 

poise  showing  a  balanced  and  forceful  mind.  His  skin  had 
an  olive  tinge,  was  almost  swart;  the  eyes  were  deep  set, 
large,  black  and  full  of  fire,  his  nose  long  and  rather  sharp; 
the  mouth  well  shaped,  the  lips  closely  set,  the  jaws  strong 
and  firm;  the  spare,  clean-cut  features  showed  penetration 
and  force.  Even  in  repose,  as  the  face  was  bent  down  in 
writing,  there  was  a  penetrating  aspect  that  fairly  signalled 
the  vigorous  and  incisive  mind  within.  This  was  Washing 
ton's  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  Col.  Alexander  Hamilton, 
"The  Little  Lion,"  as  his  friends  loved  to  call  him. 

John  had  never  seen  him  before,  but  he  knew  him  to 
be  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  his  era,  to  whom 
common  belief  assigned  the  chief  agency  in  marshalling 
the  Army  of  the  Western  Expedition  against  the  insur 
gents.  Even  with  the  President  in  camp  he  was  believed 
to  be  the  real  motor  of  the  expedition.  Next  to  Washing 
ton,  John  held  him  to  be  the  greatest  man  in  America. 
But,  although  in  full  sympathy  with  him  and  his  general 
political  views,  he  strongly  felt  that  he  had  given  undue 
prominence  to  the  excise  riots,  and  in  pursuit  of  a  favorite 
theory  had  welcomed  and  eagerly  embraced,  perhaps  had 
even  fostered  the  opportunity  to  test  the  civil  solidarity 
and  military  power  of  the  new  Republic. 

All  this  had  passed  swiftly  before  John's  mind.  In  a 
moment  the  Secretary's  face,  illumined  by  the  candle  light 
on  either  side,  was  lifted  up,  and  the  beaming  eyes  turned 
upon  him.  "Oh,  it  is  you,  Major.  You  are  on  time,  as 
usual.  I  have  just  made  out  an  order  for — " 

Major!  There  it  was  again!  John's  mind  was  in  a 
whirl  of  wonder  and  embarrassment.  He  would  no  longer 
walk  in  this  vain  show.  With  deprecatory  movement,  he 
advanced  and  held  forth  his  letter.  He  must  break  the 
spell!  He  began  to  speak,  but  Secretary  Hamilton  had 
already  perceived  his  error. 

"Ah,  I  see  I  have  made  a  mistake.  The  room  is  dimly 
lighted,  and — really — but,  the  resemblance  is  striking. 
You  are  not — 

"No,  Mr.  Secretary/'  John  began,  as  Hamilton  paused 
in  his  speech.  "I  am  Captain  John  Latimer,  recently  serv 
ing  as  a  scout  with  Gen.  Wayne,  and  am  here  with  a  letter 
to  his  Excellency  President  Washington,  from  the  hon 
orable  Deputies  of  the  people  of  the  Western  counties." 

"Ah,  yes.   .  We  have  been  looking  for  them,  and  had 


THE   LATIMERS.  369 

learned  that  they  were  close  at  hand."  Hamilton  took 
the  offered  letter  and  lifted  a  small  bell  to  ring  for  a  mes 
senger;  but  still  eyeing  John  curiously,  he  repeated,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself:  "A  striking  likeness!  Only,  this  is 
quite  a  young  man." 

He  laid  the  bell  down,  and  with  a  quick  change  of  ex 
pression,  said:  "You  are  the  Secretary  of  the  Western 
Deputies,  you  say.'  They  are  in  town,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  Mr.  Secretary;  they  did  not  venture  to  come,  on 
account  of  the  threatening  rumors  that  met  them.  They 
are  lodged  several  miles  beyond  the  village,  and  my  errand 
is  to  inform  the  President  and  ask  for  suitable  protection." 

"Hem!  the  shoe  begins  to  pinch  already,  does  it?  One 
of  the  Deputies  is  Mr.  Findley,  I  believe." 

John  bowed. 

"A  representative  in  Congress  from  the  Western  coun 
ties,  is  he  not?" 

"The  same." 

"Well,  the  people  might  have  selected  a  more  acceptable 
representative,  at  least!"  the  Secretary  remarked,  speaking 
rather  pettishly,  John  thought,  for  so  great  a  man.  "He 
has  a  grudge  against  myself,  and  has  vented  his  ill  will  in 
public  letters  and  otherwise.  I  dare  say,  now,  he  has  not 
spared  me  to  his  travelling  companions?" 

John  met  Hamilton's  penetrating  glance  with  a  look 
in  which  his  surprise  at  the  question  was  not  wholly  con 
cealed,  but  answered  steadily.  "Xot  a  word,  sir,  has  been 
spoken  in  my  hearing  that  you  might  not  have  heard  with 
entire  content." 

"Ah?  That  is  well!  Perhaps  I  am  unreasonable  to 
complain.  One  could  hardly  expect  the  Western  people 
to  select  a  friendly  delegate." 

"Certainly,  your  Honor,"  John  ventured  to  remark, 
"they  have  every  reason  to  do  so;  for  they  send  a  most 
friendly  message,  and  have  everything  at  stake  upon  the 
answer." 

"A  friendly  message?"  the  Secretary  responded. 
"Haven't  they  taken  a  strange  way  to  show  their  friendli 
ness?  ]STo  doubt  they  begin  to  see  the  gulf  into  which 
they  have  been  plunging.  Well,  we  shall  see!  They  will 
have  a  good  opportunity  to  show  their  friendliness  by  help 
ing  us  bring  the  chief  offenders  to  justice.  But  enough  of 
this!  No  doubt,  the  President  will  see  you  at  once,  and  I 
24 


370  THE   LATIMEES. 

will  go  with  you  and  present  you  myself."  He  rang  his 
little  bell,  and  an  orderly  appeared. 

"Say  to  his  Excellency  that,  with  his  consent,  Secretary 
Hamilton  will  wait  upon  him  at  once." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  orderly  announced  that  the  Presi 
dent  would  see  the  Secretary  at  his  own  convenience. 

"Come,  then!"  said  Hamilton;  and  followed  by  John 
Latimer,  he  crossed  the  broad  hallway.  The  guard  threw 
open  the  door  and  John  stood  in  the  presence  of  Washing 
ton.  The  President  rose  as  John  was  presented,  and  re 
ceived  him  with  a  gracious  manner  that  dispelled  his  em 
barrassment.  He  carefully  read  the  Deputies'  letter,  which 
the  Secretary  had  given  him,  and  a  brief  consultation  fol 
lowed  between  the  two  men.  Then  the  President  turned 
to  John.  He  spoke  deliberately,  almost  slowly.  His  voice 
was  low  but  strong  and  his  tones  carefully  modulated. 

"I  have  asked  Col.  Hamilton  to  write  a  formal  answer. 
But  you  will  say  to  the  Deputies,  from  me,  that  they  need 
have  no  fear  of  either  injury  or  insult.  They  will  be  pro 
tected  to  the  utmost  extent  of  my  authority;  and  if  any 
officer  or  soldier  should  so  far  forget  himself  as  to  do  vio 
lence  to  those  who  come  as  commissioners  of  peace,  it  will 
go  hard  with  him.  When  will  you  return?" 

"I  am  to  await  your  Excellency's  pleasure." 

"Then  your  letter  shall  be  written  at  once;  and,  if  you 
please,  you  may  deliver  it  to-night.  I  will  meet  the  Depu 
ties  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock.  I  observe,"  he  continued 
turning  to  the  note  in  his  hand,  "that  you  were  with  the 
army  at  Fallen  Timbers.  Were  you  in  the  battle?" 

"I  had  that  honor,  your  Excellency." 

"To  be  sure!  I  observe  now  that  Mr.  Findley  says 
(again  reading  from  the  note)  that  you  bear  honorable 
testimonials  of  service  upon  your  person.  Ah,  I  see!"  He 
glanced  at  the  scar  which  furrowed  the  young  man's  face. 

"I  had  the  misfortune  to  receive  several  slight  wounds," 
said  John;  and  his  face  glowed  with  honest  pride  until  his 
scar  looked  pale  in  the  contrast.  Never,  thought  he>  was 
war  wound  so  magnificently  recompensed  as  mine! 

"When  did  you  leave  Wayne's  army?" 

"I  left  the  last  week  in  August." 

"Soon  after  the  battle,  then?  Your  wounds,  I  suppose, 
disabled  you  from  duty." 

"No,  your  Excellency;  I  had  another  reason,  a  personal 


THE   LATIMERS.  371 

one."  My  only  sister  was  stolen  by  the  Indians  when  a 
young  child,  and  by  a  happy  Providence  I  found  and  recov 
ered  her  while  scouting  near  a  Shawnee  village  a  few  days 
before  the  battle.  As  there  was  little  further  need  of 
scouts,  Gen.  Wayne  sympathized  with  my  anxiety  to  restore 
my  sister  to  her  parents,  and  released  me  from  duty." 

The  greatest  are  commonly  the  most  kindly  of  men, 
and  most  keenly  alive  to  the  sentiments  of  common  human 
nature.  It  was,  therefore,  not  strange  that  Presided  Wash 
ington  and  Secretary  Hamilton  should  have  been  touched 
by  this  story  (though  at  the  time,  John  thought  it  an 
unwonted  condescension),  and  delayed  the  young  man 
until  he  had  briefly  and  modestly  told  how  Meg  was  discov-- 
ered  and  reclaimed.  By  the  time  the  tale  was  told,  a  clerk 
had  written  the  letter  to  the  Deputies,  which  the  President 
signed  and  sealed,  and  dismissed  John  with  a  politeness 
and  cordiality  which  warmed  his  inmost  soul  with  grati 
tude,  and  wrought  for  that  interview  a  place  in  his  memory 
as  the  most  honored  event  of  his  life. 

"Heaven  never  granted  me,"  said  Washington,  "the 
pleasure  of  feeling  a  parent's  love  and  anxiety  for  a  child. 
But  I  can  have  some  measure  of  sympathy  with  your  par 
ents,  both  in  their  sorrow  and  their  joy.  Say  to  them, 
from  me,  that  I  congratulate  them,  and  share  their  grati 
tude  to  God  for  His  mercy  in  restoring  their  daughter." 

John  bowred  low  in  acknowledgment  of  these  gracious 
words,  then,  deeply  blushing  and  halting  at  first  in  his 
speech,  he  replied:  "Sir,  these  blessings  would  not  have 
come  to  us  had  it  not  been  for  the  vigorous  and  successful 
manner  in  which  your  administration  planned  and  sup 
ported  Gen.  Wayne's  campaign  against  the  Indians.  To 
the  military  honor  which  that  campaign  has  brought,  and 
the  blessings  of  peace  which  have  won  the  gratitude  of  tha 
settlers  on  the  far  frontier,  I  beg  to  add,  for  my  parents 
and  myself,  grateful  thanks  for  your  high  share  in  bringing 
to  us  the  greatest  joy  that  has  ever  come  into  our  lives. 
May  God  bless  your  Excellency,  and  prosper  your  adminis 
tration!" 

It  seemed  a  bold  thing  to  do.  John  often  wondered 
afterward  that  he  had  had  the  hardihood  to  do  it.  But  his 
heart  was  so  full  that  the  words  would  not  be  stayed. 

Washington  looked  kindly  into  the  young  man's  face, 
as  he  bowed  his  farewell.  "A  promising  fellow  that!"  he 


372  THE   LATIMEES. 

said,  turning  to  his  Secretary.  "I  was  just  such  a  sturdy 
youth  when  his  age, — we  are  nearly  the  same  height,  I 
think, —  and  knocking  about  in  that  Western  wilderness. 
Well,  well!  There  have  been  great  changes  since  then. 
It  was  a  rough  life>,  but  not  unpleasant,  and  crowded  with 
adventures.  But  I  doubt  if  I  would  relish  it  now!"  He 
looked  down  upon  his  portly  figure  and  smiled.  Then 
with  a  sigh,  he  murmured:  "How  heartily  I  wish  this 
wretched  business  were  done!"  He  picked  a  lump  of  maple 
sugar  candy  from  a  box  upon  his  desk,  put  it  into  his 
mouth,  and  returned  to  the  routine  duties  that  had  occu 
pied  him  when  interrupted. 

While  John  was  thus  engaged,  Andy  Burbeck  was  busy 
after  his  own  fashion  in  sounding  the  sentiment  of  the 
camp.  He  had  fallen  in  with  the  group  of  junior  officers 
whose  belligerent  and  braggart  words  had  so  vexed  John's 
soul,  and  having  attached  himself  to  them,  was  soon  thor 
oughly  ingratiated  in  their  confidence  and  good  opinion. 

On  their  way  from  the  Commons,  they  passed  an  inn 
whose  swinging  sign  announced  that  the  "Three  Jolly 
Irishmen"  had  entertainment  for  man  and  beast.  "By  ma 
faith!"  quoth  Andy,  "a  temptin'  sign,  that!  A've  a  mind  to 
convarse  a  bit  with  them  same  jolly  countrymen  of  mine. 
Come,  gintlemin,  join  me  in  a  health  to  all  jolly  good  fel 
lows."  Just  off  the  room  which  served  as  office,  taproom 
and  common  lounging  place,  was  a  smaller  room  set  apart 
for  serving  guests  in  a  more  retired  way.  Here  Andy  gath 
ered  his  new-found  friends,  and  summoned  the  barkeeper. 

"Call  for  what  ye  like,  gintlemin,  an'  no  doubt  ye  '11 
like  what  ye  '11  call  for.  As  for  maself,  whan  A'm  travellin' 
abroad,  A'  usually  choice  the  wines  of  the  country,  which 
in  the  prisent  instance  is  good  Monongahela  whuskey.  A'll 
do  maself  the  honor  to  plidge  your  aminent  valors  in 
a  glass  of  that  biverage.  An'  A'd  racommind  the  same  to 
yourselves.  For,  as  you're  a-marchin'  to  Monongahela  to 
axtarminate  rebels  and  the  like,  you'll  nade  for  to  git 
acquaint  with  the  chief  produc's  of  the  land.  Whan  a 
man's  ingaged  in  a  contravarsey  with  his  neighbor,  A've 
found  that  there's  nothin'  like  a  parsonal  knowledge  of 
the  subjec'  onder  dispute.  So,  gintlemin,  here's  a  glorious 
andin'  to  the  war  in  the  glorious  cause  of  the  same." 

The  officers  had  already  learned,  by  a  somewhat  ex 
tended  experience,  that  Andy's  advice  was  good,  and  that 


THE   LATIMERS.  373 

for  the  present  region,  at  least,  the  most  wholesome  and 
tasty  tipple  was  the  one  commended.  They  therefore  all 
joined  Andy's  pledge  in  bumpers  of  Monongahela  whiskey. 

"You  are  Capt.  Latimer's  guide,  I  believe  you  said," 
remarked  Lieut.  Allison  Meneter,  setting  down  his  mug. 
"And  if  you  please" — this  side  remark  was  to  the  bartender 
— "I'll  take  another  of  the  same  with  a  little  hot  water 
and  sugar.  I'd  have  thought,  by  Jove!"  turning  again  to 
Andy,  "that  one  of  Wayne's  scouts  could  have  gone  almost 
anywhere  without  a  guide." 

"True  for  you,  Major,"  Andy  responded.  He  was  care 
ful  in  addressing  his  guests  to  pitch  their  titles  a  grade  or 
two  above  their  rank. 

"Not  major,  if  you  please!"  said  Lieut.  Meneter,  but 
with  a  mildly  deprecatory  manner,  as  one  who  knows  what 
he  would  be  if  he  had  his  rights.  "Not  major,  only  lieuten 
ant, — as  yet!" 

"Well,  than,  as  the  Captain  says, — for  he's  a  mightly 
1'arned  man,  is  Capt.  John  Latimer, — Major  in  futuro! 
What  matters  a  few  months  more  or  less?  For  major  it 
sartainly  will  be,  in  good  time.  An'  here's  pledgin'  you 
til  a  rapid  step  upward!  But,  as  to  Capt.  Latimer.  Thar's 
no  place  in  the  whole  land,  barrin'  the  say,  it  may  be,  that 
he  wouldn't  find  the  trail  til,  give  him  time  enough.  But, 
A'  h'ard  your  honor  remarkin'  a  spell  back  that  you  were 
somewhat  of  a  sailor?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  stirring  his  toddy.  "A 
little  that  way;  not  much;  so-so,  only.  Now,  I  never  did 
manage  a  frigate,  but,  I  daresay — " 

"Axactly!  That's  jist  it!"  interrupted  Andy.  "Now, 
A'  dar  be  sworn,  there's  not  a  harbor  in  the  whole  say 
coast  that  you  couldn't  manage  for  to  steer  intil,  give  ye 
time.  But  an  ye  were  in  a  hurry  to  git  intil  port,  you 
wouldn't  fool  away  a  day  or  two  b'atin'  about  to  find  the 
channel,  would  ye  now,  Major?" 

"To  be  sure  not!  I  would  signal  a  pilot.  Of  course, 
that's  the  proper  thing  to  do." 

"Of  coorse!"  echoed  Andy.  "That's  jist  it.  A'  see  your 
honor  has  a  highly  judgmatical  an'  nautical  mind.  Now, 
a  scout's  nothin'  more  nor  less  nor  a  land  pilot.  Turn 
Capt.  John  Latimer  loose  in  the  Ohio  forests,  and  he  would 
follow  his  trail  an'  niver  ask  a  raison  why.  A'd  be  nowhar 
aside  o'  him.  But  you  see,  A've  been  siveral  times  along 


374  THE  LATIMERS. 

the  trail  from  Fort  Pitt  til  Carlisle,  an'  he  has  niver  been 
wanct.  As  he  was  in  a  thumpin'  big  hurry  to  see  Prisident 
Washington,  he  ast  me  to  go  along  as  guide  an'  companion; 
tho'  troth,  it's  more  companion  nor  guide.  An'  here  A'  am, 
gintlemin.  Isn't  that  satisfactory?" 

"Quite  so!"  said  Lieut.  Meneter. 

"Did  you  meet  any  insurgents  along  the  way?"  asked 
Ensign  Samson  McKillen. 

"Anny  insargents,  did  ye  say,  Captain?  Lots  an'  gobs 
of  'em.  That  is,  folks  that  they  uset  fer  to  call  insargents. 
But — ha!  ha!  You  don't  think  they's  anny  left  thar  now, 
do  ye?  Bless  my  soul,  they've  h'ard  that  you'ns  is  a  comin', 
an' — well,  ye'll  find  ginoowine  insargents  as  sceerce  as 
duck's  teeth  agin  you  cross  the  mountains." 

"Cowards!"  cried  Ensign  McKillen,  with  a  tone  of  a 
much  abused  man.  "Why  don't  they  stand  up  and  meet 
us,  like  men?  Here  I've  just  been  spoiling  for  a  fight  ever 
since  we  left  the  Jersey  shore;  and  d'ye  mean  to  tell  me  I'm 
to  be  disappointed?  Not  a  gun  fired,  not  a  sword  drawn? 
Don't  tell  me  so,  sir,  don't!"  And  he  thumped  the  table 
with  his  mug. 

"Well,  Captain,  it  diz  seem  hard,  disn't  it?"  said  Andy 
in  a  soothing  tone.  "But  it's  jist  as  A'  was  a-sayin'.  If 
it's  a  fight  ye're  after,  ye're  barkin'  up  the  wrong  tree.  If 
ye  can't  git  up  a  bit  of  a  row  this  side  the  mountains, 
ye  '11  have  to  go  home  as  demure  as  a  Quaker  meetin'." 

"That's  very  odd  indeed,  sir,"  said  Capt.  Cuttan  Swing. 
"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Gen.  Washington  and  Secretary 
Hamilton,  and  all  the  rest  of  them,  didn't  know  what  they 
were  about  when  they  called  out  the  militia?  Would  you 
have  us  believe  that  there  are  no  insurgents  in  the  Monon- 
gahela  country?  What  has  become  of  them,  sir?" 

"That  A'  wull,  Colonel,  most  hearty.  It's  the  honest 
truth,  now,  jist  betwixt  ourselves,  you  know,  that  there 
niver  were  manny  of  'em.  There  were  a  few  of  'em,  no 
doubt,  an'  some  purty  rantankerous  ones,  too.  There's 
Squire  Dave  Bradford,  who's  the  Beelzebub  of  the  whole 
affair!  The  divil's  in  him  bigger  nor  a  bull-calf,  an'  no  mis 
take.  But  bless  my  soul,  gintlemin,  one  swallow  disn't 
make  a  summer,  though  he  can  kape  up  a  dale  of  a  twitter. 
Gim'me  a  dozen  gallant  gintlemin  like  yourselves,  an'  A'll 
covenant  to  clar  out  ivery  armed  band  in  all  the  Western 
Survey." 


THE   LATIMEKS.  375 

"But  what's  become  of  'em,  I  say?  That's  what  I  want 
to  know,"  Captain  Swing  persisted. 

"Well,  as  A'  was  a-tellin'  you,  ther7  wasn't  manny  of 
'em  to  start  with;  an'  what  ther5  was,  jist  picked  up  their 
rifles  an'  have  bolted  to"  the  Northwest  Territory.  Yis, 
gintlemin,  jist  incontinently  sloped!  A'  darsay,  now,  if 
you  gintlemin  wanted  to  follow  this  business  up  til  the 
bitter  and,  ye  '11  find  some  of  them  bolters  willin'  to  meet 
you  out  thar  in  the  Injun  country.  But  onless  you're 
mighty  sure  shots,  A'd  racommind  ye  to  practize  a  bit,  or 
you  '11  likely  to  come  home  dead  men.  But  what's  the 
good  of  rushin'  intil  disagraible  an'  dangerous  affairs? 
For  my  part  I  hold  til  the  old  sayin'  that  it's  a  mighty 
sight  better  to  be  in  at  the  heel  of  the  feast  than  at  the 
head  of  the  fray.  This  now  suits  me  better  nor  bein' 
knocked  over  by  a  rebel's  rifle.  Jist  pass  the  toddy  this 
way,  Major.  Thank  you.  Fill  up,  gintlemin.  Here's 
confusion  to  Benedict  Arnold,  an'  all  tories  and  traitors! 
If  ye  don't  mind,  A'll  tell  ye  a  bit  of  a  story. 

"One  of  my  neighbors  is  a  half-breed  German,  named 
Haw — Doteny  Haw,  the  boys  call  him,  because  when  he's 
in  his  cups,  an'  he's  that  way  more  frequent  nor  he  ought 
to  be,  he's  inclined  to  drivel  an'  be  overfond  of  his  cup- 
fellows.  It's  a  bad  habit  that,  Captain.  No  true  gintlemin 
should  iver  take  more  nor's  good  for  him.  Pl'ase  pass  the 
toddy  back  to  the  Major,  Captain;  it's  droughty  wark  lis- 
tenin'  to  yarns!  Well,  as  A'  was  a-sayin',  one  avenin'  old 
Doteny  was  a-goin'  home  from  the  village  tavern  with  jist 
a  weeny  bit  more  nor  he  could  carry  stiddy,  an'  he  con 
cluded  to  cut  acrost  a  patch  of  corn  A'd  lately  planted. 
He  dumb  the  fence,  an'  started  cat-a-corner  towards  my 
cabin  to  hit  the  main  road,  an'  had  got  half  way  over  the 
field,  when  he  sees  a  ghost." 

"A  ghost?"  exclaimed  Sergt.  Hector  Borem.  "Ah, 
that's  an  uncanny  subject!"  and  he  looked  uneasily  behind 
him.  "I  don't  fancy  ghost  stories;  but — go  on!" 

"Fiddlesticks!"  cried  Ensign  McKillen  contemptuously. 
"No  sensible  man  believes  in  ghosts.  I'd  just  like  to  see 
one  once!" 

"Well,  old  Doteny  saw  one  that  night,  for  sartin';  as 
good  a  ghost  as  is  a-goin'  too,"  Andy  continued.  "An'  he 
was  so  scairt  that  he  broke  acrost  the  corn  patch  like  a 
blooded  racer,  an'  fairly  butted  in  my  cabin  door  athout 


376  THE   LATIMEKS. 

stoppin'  to  lift  the  latch  string.  'Save  me,  save  me!7  he 
cried,  an'  rushin'  in,  threw  his  arms  around  the  first  one 
he  came  to,  which  happened  to  be  my  wife." 

"Ah !"  interrupted  Lieut.  Meneter.  "There  was  method 
in  his  madness." 

"Well,  he  got  it  out  then,"  continued  Andy;  "an'  the 
most  approved  method,  too;  for  Peggy  started  up  with  a 
scream,  mad  as  a  hornet,  an'  give  him  a  side-swipe  on  the 
head  an'  shuck  him  off. 

"  'Ugh!  you  old  toper!'  siz  she,  a-blowin'  her  hand; 
for  it  smarted  with  the  force  of  the  clout  she'd  a-givin' 
him.  'It's  a  shame  to  hit  an  old  man  like  you/  siz  she, 
'but  I  was  surprised  intil  it.  Old  age  is  honorable,  but 
goodness  gracious  me!  it  is  sometimes  abominable!' 

"But  Doteny  was  too  scairt  to  mind  the  lick,  an'  ran 
to  me  an'  caught  me  round  the  neck,  still  cryin,  'Save  me! 
save  me!  I've  seen  a  ghost!'  Not  to  make  the  story  too 
long  we  peacified  the  old  man,  at  last,  an'  got  his  story 
out'n  him. 

"  'As  I  was  a-comin'  through  the  field,'  siz  he,  'I  h'ard 
somebody  a-callin'  my  name  in  a  deep,  solemn  voice  that 
made  me  shiver  all  over/ 

"  'Did  he  call  you  Doteny  ?'  asked  Peggy,  rather  sharply, 
'an'  did  it  sober  you?  An'  if  it  did,  I'd  racommind  you 
to  kape  that  ghost  around  handy.  An'  mebbe  you'd  loan 
him  out  wanct  in  a  while  to  the  neighbors,'  siz  she, 
lookin'  towards  me.  For  you  see,  gintlemin,  Peggy  Bur- 
beck  is  the  best  woman  in  the  warld,  b-u-t — a  leetle  spicy 
with  her  tongue,  at  times,  when  she's  het  up  a  bit. 

"  'No,  madam,'  siz  Doteny,  speaking  up  offended  like. 
Tm  not  drunk.  I'm  as  sober  as  a  jedge,  madam!'  An' A'm 
bound  to  say,  gintlemin,  that  at  that  partic'lar  moment  he 
was,  as  he  oughter  be.  But  rax  me  the  toddy  pippin,  Mr. 
McKillen.  Thank  ye  kindly.  Ghost  stories  is  droughty 
wark  a-tellin. 

"  'More  nor  that,'  said  Doteny,  'the  ghost  called  me  by 
my  own  name.  Haw!  Haw!  siz  he,  as  plain  as  could 
be;  an'  his  voice  sounded  like  it  came  from  the  tombs.  I 
turned  and  saw, — 0  my! — I  saw  a  great — white — figure 
a-standin'  in  the  field,  spreadin'  out  its  arms  toward  me. 
There's  a  bit  of  mist  a-hangin'  low  in  the  field,  but  the 
moon  is  in  the  first  quarter,  an'  I  could  see  as  plain  as  day.' 

"  'How  high  was  the  ghost?'  asked  Peggy. 


THE   LATIMERS.  377 

"'Ten  feet  high  if  it  was  an  inch/  said  Doteny,  'ay, 
fifteen  feet!'  siz  he.  'It  had  on  a  long  white  fleecy  robe, 
that  hung  to  the  ground.  It  wore  a  tall  crown  atop  of  its 
head.  Its  arms  waved  aloft  in  the  air,  an'  in  one  hand 
it  helt  an  uplifted  sword.  As  I  stood  there  lookin'  an' 
tremblin','  siz  Doteny,  'an'  sayin'  my  prayers  as  I  could 
best  command,, — for  Good  Lord  forgive  me!'  siz  he,  'I'm 
a  leetle  rusty,  I  confess.  But  Oh,  I'll  do  better,  I  will 
indade!'  siz  he.  Mist  then,  there  riz  out'n  the  top  of  the 
ghost's  head,  an — awful — form  like  an  avil  speerit,  an' 
stretched  its  black  wings  aloft.' 

"  'How  did  you  know  it  was  an  avil  sperit  ?'  asks 
Peggy. 

'  k\\  hy,  plain  enough,'  siz  Doteny.  'It  was  jet  black; 
black  as  Sattan.  Good  Lord  presarve  me  from  'im!  The 
avil  speerit  riz  out'n  the  ghost's  head,  an'  grew,  an'  grew 
ontil  it  was  as  big  as  a  barn  door.  An'  then  it  flew — right 
at  me — a-callin'  my  name  in  that  awful  graveyard  voice. 

(f(Haw!  Haw!'  siz  the  speerit. 

"  'At  the  same  time,  the  ghost  turned  and  waved  its 
sword,  which  began  to  burn  like  the  flamin'  sword  at  the 
gate  of  Eden,  an'  out  of  its  side  poured  flashes  of  fire. 
Then  it,  too,  started  to  move  towards  me  an' — ' 

"  'An'  you  ran!'  siz  Peggy. 

"  'Ran  ?  Who  wouldn't  'a  run  with  a  ghost  and  the 
divil  himself  after  him  at  onct?  You'd  'a  run  yourself, 
Peggy  Burbeck,  though  I  bel'ave  you're  more'n  half  a 
witch — ' 

"As  he  was  a  sp'akin'  this,  rather  peppery  like,  there 
was  a  noise  as  of  someone  a-pullin'  the  bobbin'  and  rattlin' 
the  latch,  as  if  to  come  intil  the  door. 

"  'There  they  are!'  screamed  Doteny,  clingin'  to  me 
wanct  more.  '0  good  Lord!  0  good  Mrs.  Burbeck,  for 
give  me,  I  didn't  mean, — Save  me,  Andy!  Oh,  do!' 

"'Shet  up!  you  blame  fool!'  siz  I.  'It's  only  Elder 
McK'ag!'  An'  so  it  was.  An'  to  tell  ye  the  plain  truth, 
gintlemin,  I  was  mighty  glad  it  was  him.  For  betwixt  me 
an'  you,  I  began  to  feel  a  lettle  creepy  like,  the  old  fellow 
was  so  tarnation  'arnest.  Elder  McK'ag, — he's  my  father- 
in-law,  gintlemin, — he  came  in  a-laughin'  fit  to  split. 
'  'What's  the  matter,  elder?'  siz  I. 

"  'Why  Andy,'  siz  he,  'it  'ud  'a  made  a  gravestone  laugh 
to  've  seen  old  Doteny  there  a-runnin'  away  from  your 


378  THE   LATIMEKS. 

scarecrow  down  thar  in  the  corn  patch,  a-makin'  the 
gravel  fly,  a-hollerin'  at  ivery  jump,  as  though  old  Nick  was 
after  him.'  '• 

The  officers  had  listened  to  the  story  with  rapt  atten 
tion,  and  if  they  had  confessed  the  truth,  with  divers  and 
sundry  shivers  of  body  and  curdling  of  blood.  So  that 
when  the  denouement  came,  there  was  a  sigh  of  relief 
vented  quite  around  the  circle. 

"It  was  only  a  scarecrow  then?"  Sergt.  Borem  asked 
in  a  dubious  tone,  as  though  there  might  be  something 
more  gruesome  lurking  in  ambush. 

"Jist  that,  gintlemin !"  said  Andy.  "A  worn-out  gray 
shirt  of  mine  stuck  on  a  pole,  with  its  arms  stretched  out 
sidewise,  an'  an  ole  white  hat  atop." 

"But  the  evil  spirit  that  came  out  of  the  head?  What 
was  that?"  asked  the  Sergeant. 

"A  wise  old  soldier  of  a  crow,  who  was  a  reg'lar  veteran 
in  corn  stealin'.  Havin'  found  out  what  a  fraud  the  image 
was,  an'  got  over  the  effec'  on  his  imagination,  he  perched 
himself  on  the  pole,  quite  at  his  aise,  until  Doteny  Haw 
came  along  an'  scairt  him  up.  Then  he  flew  away  with  a 
cuss  word  or  two  in  the  crow  language.  Now  you  see 
Doteny  bein'  a  lettle  through  other,  couldn't  quite  tell  the 
difference  atween  tfcaw-caw'  and  his  own  name,  Haw- 
Haw!" 

"And  the  flaming  sword  and  the  flashes  of  fire?"  asked 
Capt.  Cuttan  Swing. 

"Ha,  ha!  gintlemin.  That's  the  best  of  it!  I  had 
wrapped  tags  of  tin  around  the  stock  that  stuck  far  out'n 
one  arm;  and  sewed  to  the  sides  of  the  image  bits  of  broken 
glass  an'  chainy.  So  that  when  the  image  moved  about  in 
the  wind,  the  sun  or  moon  a-shinin'  on  'em  would  flash  out 
and  shoo  off  the  birds.  That's  the  whole  story,  and  that's 
how  Ole  Doteny  Haw  saw  a  ghost  out  on  the  Mononga- 
hela." 

"Well,  Mr.  Guide,"  said  Lieut.  Moneter,  "I  daresay 
that's  a  good  ghost  story,  as  ghost  stories  go.  But  I'm 
somewhat  puzzled  to  know  where  and  why  it  got  into  our 
conversation?  Somehow  I  fail  to  get  the  point  and  connec 
tion." 

"Jist  so,  Major,  jist  so!"  said  Andy.  "Thank  you  for  the 
suggistion.  Somehow,  as  you  were  a-talkin',  a  while  back, 
I  couldn't  help  a-thinkin'  that  this  blame  whuskey  insur- 


THE   LATIMEES.  379 

raction  is  a  good  dale  like  Doteny  Haw's  ghost.  I  reckon 
the  Government  folks  out  thar  in  old  Philadelphy  have  seen 
a  heap  more  nor  there  iver  was  to  see  or  will  be.  Some  of 
'em  appear  to  have  had  a  mighty  bad  scare  over  what 
you  '11  find  out,  when  you  come  to  look  at  it  face  to  face, 
is  a  tarnation  big  fraud;  in  fact  a  kind  of  insurractionary 
scarecrow. 

"But,  gintlemin,  your  valor  and  patriotism  are  all  the 
same  whether  or  no.  So  here's  to  the  happy  layin'  of  all 
onquiet  ghosts  and  avil  speerits,  rale  or  fanciful,  ceevil  or 
military.  An'  long  life  to  Giner'l  Washington!  An', 
here's  Capt.  Latimer,  jist  in  time  to  do  the  honors  til  the 
greatest  and  the  best  of  livin'  rulers.  Walk  in,  Captain!" 

John  freshly  come  from  his  interview  with  the  Presi 
dent,  entered  the  room.  Not  finding  Andy  at  the  "Black 
Bear,"  he  had  easily  traced  him  and  his  convivial  friends 
to  the  "Three  Jolly  Irishmen."  He  came  forward,  took 
the  offered  cup  and  with  an  emotion  which  thrilled  and 
almost  sobered  the  half -tipsy  circle,  exclaimed: 

"Eise,  gentlemen,  rise!  In  the  colonial  days  our 
fathers  always  pledged  the  king  while  standing.  He  whom 
we  are  now  to  pledge,  is  more  truly  royal,  man  and  ruler, 
soldier  and  citizen,  than  all  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe. 

"WASHINGTON,  the  Father  of  his  Country! 

"Come,  Mr.  Burbeck,  it  is  time  for  us  to  be  off.  Gen 
tlemen,  I  have  the  honor  to  bid  you  good-night." 


CHAPTEE    XL. 

HOW  THE  PEOPLES'  DEPUTIES  FAKED  WITH  THE 
PKESIDENT. 

Before  the  kitchen  window  of  the  Latimer  house  stood 
a  little  table  on  which  Meg  was  preparing  divers  mixtures 
for  the  evening  meal.  It  was  a  favorite  spot  with  her,  for  it 
not  only  admitted  the  fresh  air  in  plenty,  which  she  must 
have,  but  gave  an  outlook  upon  the  yard  and  lane,  thus 
commanding  all  approaches  to  the  house.  The  soft  Octo 
ber  haze  filled  the  air  through  which  the  sun  slanted  its 
setting  rays,  laying  patches  of  mellow  color  upon  the 
sward-  as  the  light  twinkled  through  the  yellow  and  russet 
maple  leaves. 


380  THE   LATIMEES. 

"Here's  brother  John!"  cried  Meg.  Not  even  waiting 
to  wipe  the  flour  dust  from  her  brown  hands  and  pink 
arms,  she  ran  out  to  give  and  get  the  first  kiss  of  welcome. 

John,  as  was  his  custom,  was  about  to  follow  his  horse 
to  the  stable  to  see  him  cared  for  before  refreshing  him 
self.  "No,  no!  Dungy  do  that  very  well,  this  evening," 
said  Meg.  "You  must  be  weary,  poor  John !  And  the  cakes 
are  just  ready  for  the  griddle.  Come  away!  There, 
Dungy,  you  take  Marion!" 

"As  you  will,  sweetheart.  Who  could  deny  such  a 
petitioner?  Especially  when  she  pleads  on  the  side  of  a 
tired  body,  vexed  mind  and  ravenous  appetite.  Ah!  if  the 
people  had  only  made  you  a  special  deputy,  we  might  have 
fared  better  with  President  Washington.  Rub  him  well, 
Dungy;  and  don't  feed  too  soon,  for  he's  hot  with  fast 
riding."  So  saying,  John  gave  over  the  reins  to  the  negro, 
who  waited  with  radiant  face  to  greet  his  young  master. 

"How  are  you,  uncle?  And  how  are  Ladybird  and  all 
the  rest  of  your  family?" 

"De  fambly's  all  hearty,  Massa  John,  t'ank  goodness!" 
Dungy  answered.  "An'  Ladybird  she's  special  peart  dese 
days,  kase  you  know — "  He  glanced  slyly  at  Meg,  whose 
face  was  gathering  a  most  becoming  redness  in  the  rosy 
sunset. 

"But  I  don't  know,"  said  John,  laughing,  "not  having 
the  gift  of  second  sight.  I  didn't  think  Ladybird  could  be 
improved.  But  I  daresay  Meg  has  been  teaching  her  some 
Shawnee  tricks.  Hey,  sister?" 

"No,  no!  No  Shawnee  for  Ladybird!  White  man's 
horse  good  enough  for  Meg.  Ladybird's  all  the  same! 
But  Dungy  think  she  pleased — because — her  old  master 
has  got  back  home." 

"Oh,  I  see!  And  I'm  heartily  pleased,  too!"  said  John. 
"I  heard  in  Pittsburg  of  his  safe  return  with  a  detach 
ment  from  Wayne's  army.  But  he  is  not  going  to  rue  the 
bargain,  and  take  Ladybird  back?" 

"No,  no!"  Meg  answered  quickly.  "Brother  John 
know  very  better  nor  that.  Mor-to-shel-john  no  Indian 
giver!  He  give  Ladybird  for  good  an'  all." 

"Then,  maybe  it  is  Ladybird  that  rues  the  bargain, 
and  wants  to  go  back  to  her  first  love?  Fickle  jade!  I 
thought  the  handsome  hussy  was  as  much  in  love  with 
Meg  as  — " 


THE   LATIMERS.  381 

Further  teasing  was  here  stopped  by  the  greetings  of 
mother  and  father.  Then  came  supper,,  and  more  serious 
matters  banished  Ladybird  and  her  experiences  for  the 
time.  John  grieved  to  note  that  Luke  had  gained  nothing 
during  his  absence,  but  seemed  rather  to  have  got  thinner 
and  weaker  and  paler.  He  flushed  up  with  pleasure  at 
John's  arrival,  but  his  buoyancy  of  spirit  was  short-lived. 
His  indomitable  will  seemed  broken;  although  subsequent 
events  proved  that  it  was  still  capable  of  vigorous  rebound. 
He  had  grown  gentler  and  more  patient.  Never  selfish  nor 
inconsiderate  in  home  affairs,  he  now  showed  a  softness  of 
manner  that  was  rare  with  him.  Although  affectionate, 
and  with  strong  attachments  to  home,  he  had  never  been 
a  demonstrative  man.  As  his  wife  was  lacking  in  that 
quality  even  more  than  himself,  whatever  tendency  he  may 
have  had  in  early  life  to  display  his  feelings,  was  sup 
pressed,  and  disciplined  into  a  degree  of  passivity  that 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  indifference.  Now,  in  her 
advancing  age,  Mrs.  Polly  saw  and  regretted  her  error  in 
freezing  out  by  her  lack  of  responsiveness  the  nature  that 
might  have  been  warmed  into  greater  cordiality.  Too  late 
for  her;  too  late  for  him!  Life's  habits  had  hardened 
around  the  lines  of  early  days,  and  the  same  old  barriers  of 
reserve  must  bide  till  the  end. 

Just  now  she  noted  that  Luke's  sorrows  and  heart  con 
flicts  had  fretted  the  barrier  thinner  than  it  had  ever  been 
before.  How  gentle  and  tender  his  every  word,  as  with  a 
sad  smile  upon  his  face  he  went  about,  bracing  to  his 
duties,  but  finding  them  tasks!  Still,  for  her  soul's  sake, 
Mrs.  Polly  could  not  yield.  Only  when  some  breath  of  pas 
sionate  grief  or  anxiety  burned  like  fire  in  her  veins,  did 
the  reserve  relax,  as  do  ribs  of  steel  before  the  furnace  heat, 
and  the  woman's  love  and  unselfish  devotion  shine  forth. 

"Now,  John,  for  your  story!"  said  Luke,  when  the  sup 
per  was  cleared  away.  The  shortening  autumn  days  had 
shut  in  the  night,  and  made  pleasant  a  bit  of  hickory 
Uaze  upon  the  hearth,  which  Polly  thought  Luke's  wounds 
required.  He  lit  his  pipe  and  sat  in  his  easy  chair,  which 
his  wife  had  placed  for  him,  and  got  for  her  reward  some 
thing  more  than  her  accustomed  nod,  even  a  "thank  you, 
dear!"  with  a  glance  and  smile  worth  a  thousand  words. 

"Andy  got  home  a  few  days  ago,"  continued  Luke,  "and 
has  told  us  somethin'  of  how^  you  fared.  But  I'm  eager  to 


382  THE   LATIMERS. 

krtow  more.  An'  indade,  here's  Andy  now,  jist  come  in  to 
hear  ye,  an'  help  in  the  tellin'.  Good  avenin',  Mrs.  Bur- 
beck!  There's  a  cheer  for  ye.  An'  do  ye  sit  down,  Andy, 
an'  light  your  pipe,  if  ye  will,  an'  kape  quiet  a  bit  or  as  long 
as  ye  can,  at  laste,  till  the  lad  spins  his  yarn." 

"Ay,  ay,  Luke,"  said  Andy.  "Thank  ye  kindly!  My 
pipe's  often  sarved  me  for  two  duties, — smoke;  an'  firs 
whan  A've  had  a  stumpy  one  in  ma  teeth  an'  the  bowl  tilted 
agin  my  nose  to  warm  it.  But  here's  another  duty  you  give 
it, — to  put  a  stopper  on  my  gab!  Well,  my  father  uset  to 
say,  'childer,  let  your  victuals  stop  your  mouths!'  An' 
baccy's  a  sort  of  victuals,  A'  reckon.  Ay,  its  both  mate  an' 
drink  at  times,  an'  a  good  stint  of  comfort  atop  of  that. 
There,  A'll  e'en  hold  my  p'ace,  excaptions  only  excapted. 
Pole  along,  Jock,  an'  A'll  sit  on  deck  an'  take  it  aisy." 

"I  daresay  Andy  has  told  you,"  John  began,  "that  he 
left  me  busy  helping  the  Deputies  get  up  the  report  of  their 
interview  with  the  President.  But  I've  had  other  duties 
that  kept  me  occupied.  It  has  been  concluded  to  call  the 
county  delegates  and  other  representative  citizens  to  a 
meeting  at  Parkinson's  Ferry,  on  the  24th  of  October,  to 
hear  the  Deputies'  report  and  take  action  thereon.  We 
got  a  scant  notice  in  the  Pittsburg  Gazette,  but  they  thought 
it  best  to  send  out  written  circulars  and  notices,  as  the 
population  is  so  scattered.  That  has  kept  me  working 
day  and  night.  But  we  have  got  word  pretty  thoroughly 
distributed,  and  look  for  a  large  attendance.  And  we 
hope  for  a 'meeting  that  will  satisfy  an  even  more  exacting 
man  than  President  Washington." 

"Ay,  that  is  good,"  said  Luke,  nodding  his  warm  ap 
proval.  "Nothin'  could  be  better.  An'  pl'ase  God  to  spare 
me,  I'll  be  there  to  give  my  word  an'  vote  for  obeydiance 
an'  p'ace.  Now  for  your  interview  with  the  President. 
How  I  would  like  for  til  see  him  agin!  Ahbut — it  may 
not  be  now!  Go  on,  lad!" 

John  first  related  his  own  personal  experience,  which 
need  not  be  here  repeated.  When  he  tcld  how  he  had 
been  thrice  taken  for  some  one  else,  apparently  some  officer 
in  the  army  well  known  about  headquarters,  Luke  with 
drew  his  pipe  and  ejaculated:  "Odd  enough  that,  John, 
espeecially  as  you're  not  an  ordinary  lookin'  chap.  Not 
manny  six-foot-oners  in  that  army,  I  take  it.  Although 
manny  of  my  old  Eevolutionary  Ginerals,  like  Washington 


THE    LATIMERS.  383 

himself,  were  pretty  sizable  men.  Did  ye  git  anny  track  of 
that  Major  whom  ye  favored  so?" 

"Never  heard  a  word  more  about  him,  and  saw  nobody 
that  in  the  least  seemed  to  suggest  myself.  But  I  was  kept 
too  busy  to  allow  much  leisure  to  look  for  doubles.  Why, 
mother — what's  the  matter?" 

Mrs.  Latimer  had  leaned  forward  upon  her  chair  with 
hands  clasped  to  her  side,  and  eyes  fixed  upon  John  with 
almost  painful  eagerness.  "Nothin',  my  boy,  nothin'!"  she 
answered,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "Jist  a  little  turn  that 
I  sometimes  have,  a  kind  of  sudden  stitch  in  the  side  like. 
It's  all  right  now.  It  comes  and  goes  jist  so.  P'lase  don't 
mind  me,  an'  go  on  with  your  story,  lad." 

Luke  at  John's  exclamation  looked  anxiously  towards 
his  wife,  and  though  relieved  by  her  reply,  said:  "Ah, 
mother,  I  don't  like  thim  sudden  turns.  I  misdoubt  ye've 
been  overwrought  lately  with  care  and  anxiety  about  this 
miserable  wound  of  mine.  Cheer  up,  lass!  Don't  worrit 
so  much  about  your  old  man;  he's  not  worth  it." 

"Luke  Latimer,  man,  don't  spake  it!  Ye  don't  know 
what  ye're  sayin'.  Ye're  worth  a  thousand  of  your  Polly! 
An'  were  she  a  hundred  Follies  in  one,  she'd  joyfully  give 
'em  all  to  win  ye  back  to  health  and  soundness.  But  this 
all  goes  wide  of  the  mark  at  prisint.  We're  jist  a-kapin' 
John  from  his  story." 

Thus  urged,  John  returned  to  his  narrative.  "Depu- 
.  ties  Findley  and  Reddick  entered  Carlisle,  and  at  the  ap 
pointed  hour  met  President  Washington  and  were  received 
most  graciously.  They  assured  the  President  that  the 
riotous  demonstrations  had  subsided  as  rapidly  as  they  had 
arisen;  that  the  courts  of  justice  were  in  full  opera 
tion;  that  civil  functions  were  entirely  undisturbed; 
that  not  a  single  individual  could  be  found  in  oppo 
sition  to  the  execution  of  the  laws.  They  showed  and 
explained  and  emphasized  the  resolutions  of  the  peoples' 
representatives,  expressing  allegiance  and  submission. 

"They  therefore  asked  him  to  countermand  the  march 
of  the  army  into  the  Western  counties.  Or  if  it  must  needs 
go  on,  they  pressed  him  to  go  with  it,  as  the  people  had 
serious  apprehensions  that  without  his  restraining  presence 
the  troops  would  commit  excesses." 

"Right  enough  there!"  exclaimed  Luke.  "There  niver 
was  an  unruly  soldier  that  could  hold  out  afore  Washing- 


384  THE   LATIMERS. 

ton.  There's  a  power  an'  dignity  in  his  prisence  that  over 
awes  and  subdues  the  warst.  One  look  from  Wash 
ington  would  be  worth  a  score  of  Provost-marshals  an'  their 
coorts  in  soothin'  military  irritation  an'  settlin'  our  ceevil 
disorders." 

"So  the  Deputies  thought,"  said  John,  "and  urged  the 
point  so  strongly  that  the  President  promised  that  if  he 
found,  after  he  reached  Bedford,  that  the  army  required 
his  personal  presence,  he  would  accompany  it.  He 
spoke  freely,  was  more  talkative  than  I  had  fancied  he 
would  be,  for  I  always  thought  him  a  reticent  man.  He 
seemed  much  moved  about  Western  affairs,  and  sorely 
grieved  and  pressed  with  responsibility.  He  gave  his 
reasons  for  calling  out  the  militia,  and  especially  pointed 
to  the  injury  done,  and  likely  to  be  done  to  the  cause  of 
liberty  and  free  government  throughout  the  world.  Not 
withstanding  the  Deputies'  representations,  he  thought 
that  the  resolutions  presented  by  them  were  not  sufficiently 
unequivocal  to  justify  him  in  dismissing  the  army,  now 
that  it  was  assembled,  and  the  expense  of  organization  in 
curred,  and  the  sacrifices  of  the  farmer  and  merchant 
already  made  by  engaging  in  the  expedition.  In  this 
judgment  (he  said)  he  was  supported  by  some  prominent 
and  well-informed  citizens  of.  the  Western  Survey,  witli 
whom  he  had  consulted  freely.  These  assured  him  that 
the  presence  of  the  troops  was  still  required  to  overawe 
the  outrageous,  and  stamp  out  the  smouldering  embers  of 
insurrection. 

"The  objects  to  be  attained  by  the  army,  said  Wash 
ington,  were  the  unequivocal  assurance  of  submission  to 
the  laws  and  protection  to  the  revenue  officers  in  the 
future.  The  good  disposition  of  the  Government,  as  ex 
plained  by  the  United  States  Commissioners,  having  been 
rejected,  the  march  of  the  troops  was  necessary,  and  some 
atonements  would  be  required  for  infractions  of  the  law." 

"Atonement?  What  could  he  mane  by  that?"  said 
Luke.  "It  has  a  bad  sound  for  us.  Perhaps,  it's  right 
enough  that  some  axamples  should  be  made;  but  I  mis 
doubt  the  Prisident  '11  find  it  a  little  hard  to  square  that 
policy  with  his  proclamation  of  amnisty.  I  blame  the 
United  States  Commissioners,  I  do  indade!  Their  report 
to  the  Government  was  far  from  the  truth.  They  were 
misled  by  Neville  an'  his  clan.  Their  fears  axaggerated 


THE    LATIMEKS.  385 

the  facts  sadly.  But  it  was  jist  as  I  feared,  an'  as  I  telled 
our  folk.  The  great  majority  of  'em  who  didn't  vote  at 
all,  thinkin'  they  had  no  occasion,  were  set  down  as  sulky 
an7  rebellious,  an'  counted  with  the  'nays.'  It  was  unfair, 
unfair! — but,  perhaps,  it  was  natural." 

"Nachel!"  Andy  vociferated.  "Ay,  in  the  auld  country 
sanse.  It  was  pure  idiocy!  Along  of  sich  shallow-pated 
clods  as  Dave  Dandruff  on  one  hand,  and  sich  pious  old 
impracticables  as  Elder  Lowe  on  t'other,  we've  been  cast 
'ctween  the  divil  and  the  deep  say.  One  class  niver  seems 
to  understand  that  curses  like  chickens  '11  come  home  to 
roost;  and  t'other  are  most  everlastin'  sure  to  cut  off  their 
nose  to  spite  their  face." 

"But,  Andy  love,"  remarked  Peggy,  "don't  ye  think, 
now,"  and  a  roguish  twinkle  lit  up  her  black  eyes,  "that 
your  screed  is  jist  a  little  bit  like  Sattan  rebukin'  sin?  The 
pot  can't  say  black  to  the  kittle,  Andy  dear,  ye  know." 

"Ay,  Peggy  darlint,  but  it  can!  As  A've  often  had 
occasion  to  obsarve  in  listenin'  til  your  'swate  discoorse  of 
an  avenin',  whan  we're  all  our  lones.  But  go  on,  Capt'n 
Jock;  A'  belave  she's  r'ally  got  the  better  of  me  this  time; 
the  warse  luck  for  us  both!" 

"The  lateness  of  the  season  (the  President  declared) 
made  it  impossible  to  delay  the  march  for  further  negotia 
tions.  Should  the  army  now  pause,  he  feared  that  the  flame 
of  insurrection  would  spread  to  other  points.  He  admitted 
that  there  were  some  disorderly  companies  in  the  army, 
and  that  some  disorders  had  been  committed  on  the  march 
to  Carlisle.  But  he  had  given  up  the  offenders  to  the  civil 
power  of  Pennsylvania,  and  this  would  continue  to  be  his 
policy.  Judge  Peters  of  the  United  States  Court,  Mar 
shal  Lenox  and  Prosecutor  Rawle  accompanied  the  army, 
and  would  go  with  them  to  the  AYest  to  try  all  cases  accord 
ing  to  the  forms  of  civil  law. 

"He  assured  the  Deputies  that  he  would  provide,  by 
dispersing  disorderly  companies  among  better  troops,  or 
otherwise,  that  they  should  be  kept  under  strict  subordina 
tion,  and  that  in  every  instance  where  infractions  of  the 
law  were  made  by  soldiers, they  should  be  subjected  to  pun 
ishment.  He  further  declared  that  the  army  should  not 
consider  itself  as  judge  or  executioner  of  the  laws,  but  as 
employed  to  support  the  proper  authorities  in  the  execu 
tion  of  them." 
25 


336  THE    LATIMEES. 

"Ay,  ay!  That's  the  true  doctrine!"  exclaimed  Luke. 
"If  they'll  only  abide  by  that  faithfully,  an'  let  the  ceevil 
laws  do  their  wark,  we'll  be  safe  enough." 

"There's  nothin'  the  matter  with  the  doctrine,"  re 
marked  Andy,  "but  the  pinch  'ill  come  in  the  practice. 
The  proof  of  the  puddin'  is  iver  in  the  atein';  an'  there'll 
be  manny  a  wry  face  afore  we  lick  the  platter,  A'm 
a-thinkin'.  A'  mind  wanct,  Luke,  whan  A'  had  steered 
your  keel  boat  onto  a  sand  bar  in  the  Ohio  Eiver,  that  A' 
argyed  with  you  that  A'd  steered  her  all  right  an'  accordin' 
to  instructions." 

"Trust  ye  for  that,  my  dear!"  interrupted  Mrs.  Peggy. 
"The  king  can  do  no  wrong,  the  king  an' — Andy  Bur- 
beck!" 

"That's  quite  right!"  Andy  retorted.  "Faith,  what's 
the  use  o'  kapein'  sich  good  company,  said  the  knife  to  the 
steel,  if  one  can't  git  sharpened  up  now  an'  thin.  It  'ud  be 
a  shame  til  your  pious  axample,  if  A'  didn't  appropriate 
some  of  your  vartues,  Peggy  darlint.  But  you  anter- 
rup'ed  at  a  dilicate  p'int.  As  A'  was  a-sayin',  Luke,  A' 
tried  to  threep  ye  down  that  A'd  steered  the  boat  all  right 
and  by  the  most  correc'  principles. 

"  'Ay,  Andy/  siz  you,  'the  principle  is  correc'  enough. 
Theoretically,  we're  all  right,  but  practically  we're  on  a 
sand  bar!' 

"That's  my  opeenion  of  the  sitooation  in  the  Western 
counties  if  the  soldiers  git  in  here  'ithout  the  Prisident  to 
control  'em.  Theoretically,  Judge  Peters  and  Marshal 
Lenox  and  Prosecuting  Attorney  Rawle  will  represint  the 
ceevil  powers.  Practically,  Secretary  Hamilton  an'  the 
army  giner'ls  '11  manage  an'  inflooence  the  whole  business. 
A  ceevil  coort  supported  by  bayonets  '11  be  a  coort  martial, 
call  it  by  what  name  ye  wull.  An'  the  Lord  save  us  from 
dragoon  law!  A'  sampled  a  lot  of  them  folk  down  at  Car 
lisle,  and  if  the  authority  goes  to  sich  as  thim,  it'll  fare 
ill  with  the  people.  Put  a  beggar  on  horseback  an'  he'll 
ride — wull,  he  won't  ride  to  Heaven,  annyhow." 

"Ay,  man!"  said  Luke,  sadly;  and  John  went  on  with 
his  story. 

"The  President  regretted  that  he  could  not  accompany 
the  army  west,  as  his  presence  was  necessary  in  Philadel 
phia  to  prepare  for  the  approaching  meeting  of  Congress. 
He  had  tried  to  impress  the  officers  with  a  proper  sense  of 


THE   LATIMEKS.  387 

the  importance  of  submitting  to  the  laws;  and  that  unless 
they  did  so,  the  last  resort  of  a  Kepublican  government 
would  be  defeated.  The  expedition  had  been  a  costly  one, 
and  he  hoped  some  good  might  grow  out  of  it  to  console 
if  not  to  compensate  them.  We  have  made  a  Eepublican 
form  of  government  and  enacted  laws  under  it,  yet  we 
have  heretofore  given  no  testimony  to  the  world  of  being 
able  or  willing  to  support  our  government  and  laws.  This 
is  the  first  instance  of  the  kind  since  the  commencement 
of  the  government,  and  he  had  thought  it  his  duty,  as 
President,  to  bring  out  such  a  force  as  would  not  only  be 
sufficient  to  subdue  the  insurgents,  if  they  made  resist 
ance,  but  to  crush  to  atoms  any  opposition  that  might  arise 
in  another  corner. 

"This,  said  the  President,  would  operate  in  favor  of 
humanity  by  effectively  discouraging  any  that  might  be 
otherwise  disposed,  from  provoking  bloodshed.  In  the 
final  result,  it  might  teach  the  citizens  of  the  Eepublic  to 
be  more  cautious  of  writing  and  speaking  in  such  a  manner 
of  the  measures  of  the  Government  as  might  tend  to 
inflame  the  people.  It  would  also  convince  other  nations 
that  we  could  defend  ourselves." 

"There  it  is,  John;  jist  as  I  axpected!"  Luke  exclaimed; 
"an'  hav  said  manny  a  time.  Ginerl  Washington  is  badly 
advised  in  all  this  matter.  Secretary  Hamilton  has 
put  that  bee  in  the  Prisident's  bonnet,  Pll  lay  a  pretty 
penny.  It's  a  favoryte  crotchet  with  him,  that  a  new  gov- 
er'ment  can't  be  regarded  as  stable  till  it  has  proved  its 
unity  an'  force  by  a  war  of  some  sort.  Unfort'nately  we've 
furnished  the  opportunity,  an'  he  manes  to  experiment  on 
us.  But,  it's  absurd!  Surely  Giner'l  Washington's  too 
good  a  soldier  not  to  know  that  there's  not  a  single  armed 
man,  let  alone  an  organized  force,  to  oppose  his  army.  It's 
a  military  farce,  an'  nothin'  short  of  it,  to  march  fifteen 
thousand  soldiers  over  the  mountains  on  sich  a.n  axpedition. 
Nothin'  but  some  sich  idea  of  the  ceevil  importance  of  the 
movement  would  justify  it.  It's  jist  a  gran'  demonstration 
to  t'ach  the  world  an'  oursilves  that  we're  a  nation  an'  not 
a  rope  of  sand.  It  may  be  good  statesmanship;  the  Lord 
only  knows  that!  But  I'm  sartin  it's  a  costly  kind  of  po- 
leetical  school  t'achin',  an'  mighty  poor  soldierin'.  How- 
iver,  we've  made  our  bed,  an'  I  reckon  we've  got  to  lie  in 
it.  Go  on,  lad;  let's  hear  all  the  story." 


388  THE    LATIMERS. 

"Secretary  Hamilton  was  present  during  the  interview, 
and  took  part  in  the  conversation.  The  Deputies  not  being 
able  to  get  better  terms,  must  perforce  be  content.  But  they 
were  especially  grateful  that  the  President  at  all  their  inter 
views  authorized  them  to  assure  their  fellow  citizens  who 
had  sheltered  themselves  under  the  faith  of  the  Govern 
ment  by  duly  accepting  the  amnesty,  that  not  a  hair  of 
their  heads  should  be  injured,  let  their  crimes  have  been 
ever  so  great." 

The  evening  had  well  advanced  ere  John's  report  of 
the  Carlisle  interview  had  ended;  that  is,  it  was  nine 
o'clock.  The  art  of  turning  night  into  day  nourishes  ill 
in  the  glimmer  of  tallow  candles.  It  needs  high  artificial 
lights  for  its  development.  Our  pioneers  were  therefore 
quite  ready  for  bed  when  John  had  finished  his  tale  and 
the  others  their  comments  upon  it.  Luke  especially  found 
that  the  recollections,  emotions  and  anxieties  stirred  up 
by  the  narration  had  wrought  like  physical  labor  to  weary 
him.  Mrs.  Polly  noticed  this,  and  dismissed  her  guests  a^ 
hastily  as  comported  with  hospitality. 

"It's  a  new  axperience  for  Luke,  poor  dear!"  she  con 
fided  to  Mrs.  Burbeck.  "He's  jist  1'arnin'  what  it  is  to  be 
dreened  dry  of  body  power  through  the  narves.  I  niver 
dr'amed  afore,  said  he,  that  one's  legs  an'  arems  could  git 
w'aker  and  wearier  by  jist  thinkin'  an'  feelin'  an'  frettin' 
nor  by  drudgin'  in  the  field  or  trampin'  in  the  forest. 
So  jist  say  good  night,  Peggy,  an'  git  Andy  off  with  ye,  an' 
thank  ye  kindly." 

"Good  night,  fVinds,  good  night!"  said  Luke.  "It's 
some  comfort  at  laste  to  know  the  warst  an'  prepare  for 
it.  Better  a  finger  off  than  aye  a-waggin'.  The  long  an' 
short  of  our  case  is,  that  the  army  is  comin'  intil  the  West 
an'  Washington  is  not.  The  army  brings  with  it  judicial 
machinery  to  hale  an'  harry  the  people  an'  drag  them  from 
their  vicinage  to  Philadelphia  for  trial.  An'  Secretary 
Hamilton  comes  for  til  operate  the  machine,  with  Giner'l 
Neville  as  chief  accuser  an'  armed  soldiers  to  axecute  policy 
an'  process.  It  looks  black  for  us,  an'  that's  the  plain 
truth.  But  there's  a  silver  linin'  to  the  cloud.  There 
niver  was  a  night  so  dark  that  the  sunrise  didn't  follow  it. 
Let  us  hope  for  the  best,  and  trust  in  Him  who's  aboon 
us  all!  Good  night! 

"Now,  lad,"  he  added,  turning  to  John,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


THE   LATIMEES.  389 

Burbeck  retired,  "tak'  the  Buk,  an'  gie  us  a  morsel  o'  com 
fort  out  of  the  ninety-first  Psalm,,  an'  then  we  '11  put  our 
selves  intil  the  hands  of  Him  'ithout  Whom  no  sparrow 
can  fall." 


CHAPTEK  XLI. 

MEG  LATIMER  MAKES  FURTHER  PROGRESS  IN  CIVILIZATION. 

The  one  sad  feature  in  the  home-coming  of  John  and 
Meg  Latimer  was  their  visit  to  Indian  Rocks.  The  few 
changes  wrought  since  Meg's  capture  had  not  altered  the 
bold  outlines  of  the  scenery.  She  looked  up  the  beetling 
side  of  the  overtowering  hill.  She  saw  the  great  walnut 
with  its  gnarled  root  jutting  over  the  bank.  She  saw  the 
rushing  river,  the  island,  the  riffled  rapids,  the  lush  bottom 
land  beyond.  One  thing  after  another,  one  thing  with 
another  came  thronging  up  from  the  caverns  of  memory, 
thrown  open  by  the  mysterious  power  of  association,  until 
her  infant  days  seemed  to  live  again.  But  John's  stopping 
at  this  place  on  his  homeward  march  was  not  to  get  fur 
ther  proofs  of  Meg's  identity,  nor  to  satisfy  her  longing 
to  revisit  the  scenes  of  childhood,  but  to  perform  one  of  the 
saddest  offices  of  friendship.  As  far  as  Panther  and  Feath- 
erfoot  had  a  permanent  place  of  abode,  one  could  scarcely 
call  it  home,  it  was  on  the  little  island,  known  among  the 
Mingoes  as  "Pictured  Rock  Island."  Luke  Latimer  and  his 
father  had  called  it  "Featherfoot's  Island"  since  the  day 
they  had  rescued  the  young  Indian  squaw  from  the  flooded 
river  just  off  its  foot.  There,  in  their  wigwam,  a  snug  and 
secluded  retreat,  Featherfoot  now  awaited  the  return  from 
the  war  of  him,  who,  alas,  should  come  no  more. 

Standing  upon  the  bank,  John  called  across  the  narrow 
space  of  swift-running  water  between  the  island  and  the 
shore.  Soon  Featherfoot  appeared,  having  noted  the 
friendly  hail,  and  leaping  into  her  canoe,  came  to  where 
John  stood.  There  was  a  look  in  her  eyes  of  keen  and 
painful  quest,  which  told  that  already  she  had  anticipated 
evil  tidings.  Had  not  the  Young  Oak  come  without  Pan 
ther?  Ere  the  canoe  touched  the  bank,  had  she  not  recog 
nized  her  husband's  rifle  and  pouch  and  belt  in  John's 
hands?  "\Yell  she  knew  that  had  her  Panther  been  alive, 


390  THE   LATIMERS. 

his  hand  alone  would  have  borne  them.  She  sprang  forth 
with  a  cry  and  stood  trembling,  heedless  of  the  boat,  which 
would  have  drifted  away  had  not  Meg  jumped  quickly  to 
the  rescue,  and  brought  it  back. 

John  silently  laid  the  warrior's  trophies  within  the 
widow's  hands;  then  with  as  few  words  as  might  be,  he 
told  the  story,  the  hardest,  saddest  duty  that  his  young 
life  had  known.  Ere  it  was  ended,  Meg  came  softly  to 
Featherfoot's  side,  and  put  her  arms  around  her.  The 
matron  sank  down  upon  the  rock, — a  great  slanting  rock 
it  was,  which  thereafter  was  known  as  "Featherfoot's 
Woe/' — and  with  kneas  doubled  to  body  began  her  wail  for 
the  dead.  With  no  spoken  word,  Meg  crouched  at  her  side, 
and  rocking  back  and  forth  in  cadence  with  the  swaying 
of  her  mourning  sister,  joined  in  the  lament.  John 
silently  moved  away  and  left  the  two  women  together, 
knowing  that  in  grief  like  this,  next  to  Heaven's  Com 
forter,  there  is  no  consoler  like  a  tender  hearted  woman. 

By  and  by  he  came  back  and  gently  led  Meg  away. 
She  had  made  herself  known  to  the  mourner,  John  never 
could  understand  just  how,  although  pleased  that  it  was 
done.  But  ere  going,  he  bade  Featherfoot  remember  that 
his  father's  home  would  always  be  hers,  whenever  and  as 
long  as  she  chose  to  claim  it.  A  month  thereafter  Feather- 
foot  entered  the  kitchen  door  of  Luke  Latimer's  cabin,  and 
quietly  sat  down  in  the  corner  of  the  great  fireplace  where 
Mrs.  Polly  and  Meg  were  preparing  the  evening  meal. 
Few  words  passed  until  the  keen  edge  of  her  grief,  whetted 
anew  by  the  sight  of  her  white  friends,  had  somewhat  worn 
away.  Then  the  Indian  woman  spoke. 

She  had  left  her  wigwam  on  Featherfoot's  Island,  she 
said.  She  could  no  longer  bear  its  loneliness  now  that 
the  hope  of  her  love's  coming  had  gone  out  forever.  The 
birds,  whether  in  their  day  songs  or  their  night  calls,  gave 
forth  only  mournful  notes  that  saddened  her.  For  what 
whistle  or  trill,  or  twitter  or  cackle,  or  caw  or  hoot,  or  other 
note  among  them  all,  had  not  Panther  or  his  Featherfoot 
deftly  mimicked,  and  used  as  signals  wherewith  to  talk 
with  one  another?  This  one  was  for  greeting,  that  for 
good-bye.  One  was  for  warning,  another  for  safety.  There 
was  a  call  for  fishing;  for  hunting;  to  bring  boat,  rifle  or 
bow;  to  tell  of  good  luck  or  bad;  to  give  notice  that  veni 
son  was  coming  to  the  wigwam  from  the  forest,  or  wild 


THE   LATIMERS.  391 

turkey  or  woodcock  from  the  brush,  or  fish  from  the  river; 
or  to  tell  that  her  brave  came  back  victorious  from  the 
warpath.  Oh,  what  was  there  in  all  their  long  life  to 
gether,  that  two  hearts  needed  to  tell,  that  they  had  not 
taught  one  another  to  tell  in  the  well-feigned  language  of 
birds,  beasts  and  insects?  Ay,  and  some  notes  were  for 
love,  only  for  love;  sweet  signals  to  cheer  and  comfort, 
and  say  to  each  other  that  they  waited  and  longed  for 
love's  meeting. 

Alas!  she  could  not  bear  it!  The  woods  and  waters  now 
gave  forth  no  sounds  of  joy.  Everything  told  of  loss,  of 
sorrow,  of  utter  loneliness.  Children  the  Great  Spirit  had 
never  given  them.  Panther  was  her  all;  and  Panther  was 
gone  from  her  forever.  She  would  never  hear  the  dip  of 
his  paddle  in  the  river,  nor  the  sound  of  his  footfall  on 
the  grass,  nor  the  crack  of  his  rifle  in  the  woods.  They 
would  never  walk  the  forest  in  the  moonlight,  nor  sit  by 
the  camp-fire  in  the  autumn  evening.  She  could  never 
cook  his  game,  while  he  sat  on  the  rocks  hardby  and 
rounded  his  arrow  shafts.  She  could  never  spread  his 
couch  of  soft  skins;  never  hoe  the  little  patch  of  green 
corn,  with  her  heart  singing  gladly,  the  while,  over  the 
thought  that  her  brave  would  relish  the  tender  green 
roasting  ears,  or  the  savory  succotash,  or  yellow  ash  cake. 
Lonely,  lonely! 

Then  she  thought  of  her  white  friends,  the  friends  of 
her  dead,  and  resolved  to  come  away.  Her  wigwam  and 
some  of  her  things  she  had  sold  to  neighboring  settlers, 
who  would  also  bring  to  her  what  she  wished  to  save.  She 
had  come.  She  knew  she  would  be  welcome.  She  would 
stay  until  her  heart  was  healed,  or  until  she  might  join 
her  lost  warrior  in  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds.  Luke 
gave  her  a  hearty  welcome.  Whilst  he  had  a  cabin,  Feath- 
erfoot  should  have  a  home.  Mrs.  Polly,  apart  from  her  sym 
pathy  with  her  husband,  had  reasons  of  her  own  for  wel 
coming  her  Indian  friend,  although  there  was  scant  room 
in  the  house  since  Meg  had  come.  But  Featherf  oot  settled 
that  matter  to  the  content  of  all,  by  bidding  Luke  pitch 
a  tent  in  the  yard,  and  let  her  dwell  therein.  This  was 
done,  and  Featherfoot's  lodge  was  made  in  a  quiet  nook 
beneath  a  sugar  maple. 

Here  Meg  Latimer  often  came,  and  among  all  her  new 
found  friends  none  helped  her  more,  in  mastering  the  mys- 


392  THE   LATIMEKS. 

teries  of  her  new  life,  than  Featherfoot.  "With  her  wider 
experience  of  white  men's  ways,  and  her  full  knowledge 
of  Indian  use  and  wont,  she  was  an  apt  mediator  for  Meg, 
and  interpreted  for  her  many  things  that  had  sorely  vexed 
her  mind.  It  was  wonderful  how  much  simpler  perplex 
ing  matters  seemed  when  viewed  through  the  mediatorial 
atmosphere  of  this  common  sympathy.  There  were  mat 
ters  that  she  wanted  cleared  up,  even  after  all  explanation,, 
and  which  she  felt  ashamed  to  ask  her  family  about  and 
expose  her  ignorance.  But  she  had  no  such  feeling  with 
Featherfoot,  to  whom  she  could  go  as  freely  as  one  child 
goes  to  another  in  like  case. 

With  all  the  fullnes  of  Meg's  joy  in  the  new  life,  there 
were  times  when  old  habits  drew  her  away  with  almost 
resistless  force.  The  freedom  of  the  forest,  the  unfettered 
liberty  of  savage  life,  have  a  charm  to  most  healthy  organ 
isms.  Civilized  man  easily  reverts  to  the  nomad.  His 
natural  Eden  is  not  a  walled  town  but  a  garden.  At  his 
highest  point  of  culture  he  keeps  within  him  traces  of  his 
original  estate,  and  when  opportunity  serves  throws  off  th-j 
trammels  of  conventional  society,  and  gladly  becomes  for 
a  season,  at  least,  a  dweller  in  tents,  and  runs  wild  in 
some  mountain  or  seaside  camp.  One  can  therefore  easily 
understand  Meg's  recurring  moods  and  intense  longing 
for  escape  from  the  galling  and  checks  of  civilized  life. 
At  such  times,  she  would  mount  Ladybird  and  ride  away 
into  the  wildest  tracts  surrounding  the  settlements. 

The  spirited  mare  seemed  to  catch  her  mistress's  mood, 
and  as  though  in  sympathy  with  the  inward  ferment,  would 
dash  along  at  full  speed.  Many  a  farmer  would  pause  in 
the  field,  and  many  a  woman  would  gaze  from  the  cabin 
door,  as  rider  and  steed  swept  bv  like  the  wind,  and  wonder 
what  and  who  it  could  be?  Sometimes  Meg  fairly  wore 
off  her  mood  by  the  exhilaration  of  this  motion.  But  again 
she  would  halt  in  the  virgin  forest,  and  picketing  Ladybird, 
would  sit  for  hours  in  solitude,  and  loll  about,  and  run 
and  climb,  or  doze  upon  a  mossy  hummock,  until  the 
tumult  was  quieted,  and  then  gallop  home  pacified. 

On  one  of  these  excursions,  while  rapidly  passing  a  large 
cleared  field,  Ladybird  slackened  her  speed  and  uttered  a 
kindly  whinny.  Meg,  though  surprised,  thought  the  greet 
ing  for  herself,  and  rousing  from  her  moody  silence,  patted 
the  creature's  neck  and  spoke  pet  words,  cooing  at  her  as 


THE   LATIMERS.  393 

a  mother  to  her  child.  But  Ladybird  turned  her  face 
towards  the  clearing  and  whinnied  again,  whereat  an  an 
swering  neigh  came  from  the  field,  in  which,  as  Meg  looked, 
she  saw  five  or  six  horses  standing  with  their  fine  heads 
erect,  and  their  eyes  upon  the  road.  A  moment's  look,  and 
off  they  pranced  with  switching  tails  and  tossing  manes, 
until  stopped  by  the  Virginia  rail  fence.  There  they  halted 
and  gave  forth  their  greetings;  and  thence,  as  Meg  urged 
on  her  steed,  followed  along  the  zig-zag  line  to  the  corner, 
where  they  stood  in  a  bunch  and  craned  their  necks  across 
the  upper  rail,  and  snorted  and  whinnied  vigorously. 

"Foolish  Ladybird!"  said  Meg,  shaking  the  reins  and 
lovingly  chiding  the  mare,  who  was  trembling  with  excite 
ment.  "Are  you  so  lonely,  then?  Maybe,  like  your  mis 
tress,  you  too  sometimes  yearn  for  the  freedom  of  open 
fields  and  woods.  Would  you  like  to  run  wild  awhile,  dear? 
Ah,  no  doubt,  it  would  be  nice!  But  we  must  get  on  now; 
we  cannot  stop  here.  Get  up,  Ladybird!" 

But  the  mare  instead  of  getting  on,  dropped  into  a 
walk  and  began  to  limp. 

"Ah,  poor  Ladybird!"  cried  the  maid;  "is  it  that? 
Foolish,  bad  Meg!  to  think  she  was  lonely,  and  would 
stop  for  a  lot  of  whinnying  horses  in  a  field!  What  could 
have  hurt  my  pet?"  She  leaned  over  the  saddle,  the 
horse  still  limping  along,  to  see  where  the  lameness  was. 
Then  thinking  that  a  small  stone  had  got  into  her  shoe, 
she  dismounted  and  began  to  examine  the  foot. 

Now  a  chorus  of  equine  farewells,  vibrating  with  in 
tense  longing,  came  from  the  field  into  the  wooded  clump 
where  Meg  had  halted.  Ladybird  could  contain  herself 
no  longer,  but  withdrew  her  foot,  yet  gently,  from  Meg's 
hands,  and  turning  sharply  about,  cantered  back  to  the 
fence  corner,  and  was  soon  rubbing  noses  with  her  friendly 
congeners.  But  now,  to  Meg's  amazement,  she  moved 
without  a  trace  of  limping!  Her  lameness  was  gone! 
Meg  was  so  taken  aback  by  this  unexpected  act,  that  she 
stood  gazing  after  her  runaway  with  a  blank  countenance, 
until  the  truth  dawned  upon  her. 

"0  wicked  Ladybird!"  she  exclaimed.  "Who  would 
think  you  play  possum  that  way,  and  run  away  from  your 
Meg?  Hah!  that  not  do  at  all!" 

She  darted  down  the- road,  and  overtaking  the  fugitive, 
snatched  at  the  bridle,  assailing  her  the  while  with  re- 


394  THE    LATIMEKS. 

preaches.  But  Ladybird  had  not  yet  finished  her  romp, 
and  jerked  back  her  head,  and  sidling  away  from  her  mis 
tress,  turned  and  trotted  along  the  fence,  keeping  neck- 
and-crop  with  the  bunch  of  field  horses  within,  who 
startled  by  Meg's  approach,  had  fled  from  their  corner. 
But  the  maiden's  blood  was  now  up,  and  resolved  to  regain 
her  mare,  and  have  no  more  shilly-shallying,  she  started 
after  her  in  full  run. 

She  did  not  rely  upon  her  nimbleness,  though  so  fleet 
of  foot  that  she  could  hold  by  Ladybird's  bridle  and  keep 
up  with  her  at  a  quick  gallop.  She  had  noted,  with  her 
keen  eye  for  all  natural  features,  that  the  fence  made  an 
elbow  against  a  thick  clump  of  underbrush  that  skirted 
the  road,  and  that  Ladybird,  following  her  escort,  would 
run  into  the  pocket  formed  by  the  outside  of  the  fence 
and  the  inner  edge  of  the  chaparral.  Down  this  pocket 
Meg  ran,  knowing  that  she  would  soon  have  her  fugitive 
caged  and  headed  off. 

But  here  again  she  had  reckoned  without  her  host. 
The  mare  seeing  the  trap  into  which  she  had  run,  deliber 
ately  chose  the  lowest  panel,  and  thrusting  her  neck  be 
neath  the  rider  rail,  lifted  it  from  the  cross  stakes  on  which 
it  rested,  and  jumped  the  fence  into  the  field.  Then  began 
a ,  gay  frolic,  with  much  interchange  of  horse  sympathy 
and  how-de-dos,  and,  who  knows?  perhaps  of  news  as  well. 
Meg  not  disheartened,  though  discouraged  and  vexed, 
climbed  the  fence  and  paused  to  consider  the  situation. 

Just  then,  a  man  appeared  running  along  the  lane  that 
issued  into  the  opposite  end  of  the  field.  He  let  down  the 
bars,  and  gave  a  peculiar  halloo,  followed  by  a  long  in 
flected  whistle.  Meg  was  startled,  for  it  was  the  very 
quest-call  that  Mort  Sheldon  had  taught  her  with  which 
to  summon  Ladybird,  and  never  until  that  day  had  it  failed 
to  bring  the  faithful  animal  to  her  side.  However  the 
man  came  to  know  the  call,  it  acted  like  a  charm.  The 
whole  bunch  of  horses  stopped  their  romping  and  trotted 
up  to  the  signalist.  Even  Ladybird,  although  she  hesi 
tated,  and  turned  her  face  towards  Meg,  and  seemed  to 
feel  some  compunction  and  relenting,  at  last  slowly  fol 
lowed,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  securely  held  in  the 
man's  grasp.  She  was  greeted  with  vociferous  chiding: 

"You  jade, how  dare  you  treat  your  mistress  so?  You've 
disgraced  yourself,  and  put  shame  upon  your  trainin'. 


THE    LATIMERS.  395 

You're  a  treacherous  and  frisky  piece!"  So  saying,  he 
cuffed  her  ears  soundly,  and  laid  his  palm  with  a  thumping 
whack  upon  her  flank.  "Now  go  back  and  tell  her  how 
shamed  you  be!"  So  saying,  he  turned  her  loose  with 
another  smart  whack  upon  her  wethers. 

Meg  who  heard  and  saw  this,  as  she  ran  toward  the 
mare,  expected  to  see  the  creature  frantic  with  rage;  for 
she  would  not  bear  the  touch  of  spur  or  stick  or  whip  from 
anyone,  but  was  made  fairly  wild  thereby.  Yet,  here  she 
came,  marvel  of  marvels!  with  head  bowed  as  in  genuine 
contrition,  walking  slowly  and  demurely  to  meet  her 
mistress.  Staying  not  for  further  question  of  these  won 
ders,  Meg  threw  her  arms  around  her  neck. 

"Oh,  Ladybird,  Ladybird!"  she  cried,  "how  could  you 
treat  Meg  so?  What  for  you  do  it?  You  bad  beauty! 
You  like  prodigal  boy  the  Bible  tell  about  that  run  away 
from  home.  You  get  beating  too,  hey?  Ah!  you  no  like 
that  pretty  well!  But  you  come  back,  and  be  no  more  bad, 
and  Meg  '11  forgive  all.  Oh,  you  bad  beauty!" 

The  farmer  now  came  up  and  touched  his  hat.  "Good 
mornin',  Miss  Latimer,"  he  said.  "I'm  sorry  for  your 
trouble  with  the  mare,  and  mortal  shamed  of  the  way  she 
sarved  you." 

"You  know  Ladybird  pretty  well!"  interrupted  Meg, 
venting  her  surprise  at  once.  "How  come  that?" 

"Wall,  yis,  ruther  so.  I  reckon  I  oughter  't  any  rate, 
seein's  I  raised  her  from  a  colt,  Mr.  Sheldon  an'  me.  An' 
I  calk'late  that's  what  give  rise  to  the  trouble  jest  neow. 
She's  not  been  hyer  sence  the  boss  went  off  to  the  war 
with  her.  An'  them's  her  mother  and  sisters,  all  on  'em," 
nodding  to  the  horses  who  had  now  come  up,  and  stood  in 
a  bunch  with  eager  eyes  and  switching  tails,  seeming  to 
follow  the  conversation.  "An'  a  likelier  lot  of  brood 
mares  isn't  to  be  found  this  side  the  mountings.  I  reckon 
we'd  oughter  allow  some  for  that.  It  was  a  big  temptation 
for  a  young  thing  like  her,  to  come  back  hum  and  not  git 
a  chance  to  say  howdy?  Hey,  Ladybird,  you  jade!"  He 
patted  the  mare  kindly,  who  rubbed  her  nose  gratefully 
against  his  palm. 

"But  she  hadn't  oughter  done  it,  no  way;  an'  in 
truth  I  didn't  think  she  would  'a  done  it.  But,  shucks! 
Miss,  horses  is  a  heap  like  folks,  anyway  you  fix  it.  I've 
raised  a  power  of  'em  in  my  time,  an'  for  all  the  world  a 


396  THE   LATIMERS. 

frisky  young  mare  is  jes'  like  a  frisky  young  maid.  You 
can't  al'ays  tell  what's  workin'  inside  their  noddles.  Take 
'em  by  and  large,  they're  pritty  stiddy,  if  so  be  they're 
trained  right.  But  the  fust  thing  you  know,  they  fly  off 
the  handle,  and  there  you  are!  An'  they  ain't  thar!" 

By  this  time  Meg  had  mounted  Ladybird,  and  jogged 
along  beside  the  farmer,  who  led  the  way  through  the 
open  bars  adown  the  lane.  It  was  bordered  on  either  side 
by  thrifty  young  fruit  trees.  Ladybird's  friends  followed 
a  few  yards  behind,  and  Meg  laughed  heartily  to  >  see  the 
procession  coming,  walking  solemnly  one  after  another  as 
at  a  funeral.  She  felt  her  heart  warm  towards  Nathan 
Lane,  for  so  the  man  was  called,  who  had  come  to  her  help 
so  effectively. 

He  was  a  Yankee,  as  New  Englanders  were  commonly 
called  in  that  section,  a  son  of  a  Cape  Ann  sea  captain.  He 
was  of  medium  size;  not  lanky  as  the  typical  downeaster 
is  supposed  to  be,  though  lithe  and  sinewy;  with  broad 
chest  and  slightly  stooping  shoulders.  He  had  a  large 
head,  and  a  keen  and  kindly  face  flanked  by  side  whiskers, 
and  shaded  by  a  yellow  rye  straw  hat  with  a  broad  flap. 
He  had  drifted  West  with  the  emigrants  to  the  Connecti 
cut  Reserve  in  Ohio,  and  "found  port"  as  he  said,  with 
Mr.  Sheldon,  whom  he  had  served  for  several  years  as 
farmer,  or  foreman  and  man  of  all  work. 

He  had  developed  strong  points  as  a  stock  breeder,  and 
was  almost  as  apt  in  training  horses  as  Sheldon  himself. 
Among  the  settlers  he  went  by  the  name  of  Passon, — 
"Passon  Nathan."  Some  said  because  of  his  fondness  for 
moralizing  on  all  subjects,  and  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men;  others,  because  of  his  supposed  clerical  appearance 
when  dressed  in  the  Sunday  suit  of  black  which  he 
affected.  Others  maintained,  with  a  better  show  of  reason, 
that  his  nickname  was  due  to  the  fact  that  he  was  continu 
ally  arguing  against  parsons! 

That  he  had  got  Meg  out  of  her  trouble,  was  much 
to  her.  That  he  was  the  trainer  of  Ladybird  was  more. 
That  he  was  Mort  Sheldon's  man  was  most  of  all.  Over 
and  above  all  this,  she  was  thoroughly  pleased  with  his 
way  of  speaking  of  horses  as  though  they  were  human. 
She  had  imbibed  the  Indian  belief  that  the  warrior's 
favorite  horse  and  dog  would  share  with  him  the  Happy 
Hunting  Ground.  She  had  been  in  high  dudgeon  one 


THE    LATIMERS.  397 

day  at  Dr.  McMillan,  for  doubting  that  Ladybird  had  a 
soul.  The  Doctor  had  begun  the  duty  of  teaching  her 
religion,  and  his  text-book,  of  course,  was  the  Shorter 
Catechism,  of  which  we  shall  have  more  to  say  presently. 
He  had  got  as  far  as  "God's  works  of  Providence,"  the 
answer  to  which  Meg  well  understood,  in  a  general  way, 
and  cordially  assented  to.  She  was  especially  pleased  with 
the  thought  that  God's  Providence  includes  "the  preserv 
ing  and  governing  all  his  creatures  and  all  their  actions." 

"That  means  big  creatures?"  she  asked,  "deer  and 
bear,  and  horses,  and  cows?" 

"Yes,  no  doubt!"  the  Doctor  replied,  but  with  some 
hesitation. 

"That  mean  little  creatures,  too?" 

"Certainly!    That  is  to  say — hem!  yes, — I  expect  so!" 

"That  mean  ants,  and  spiders,  and  bees  and — " 

"Oh,  yes!"  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  whose  rather  stately 
intellect  hardly  kept  pace  with  Meg's  rapid  questions. 
"Beasts  and  birds  and  creeping  things  were  created  for 
man's  use;  and  as  far  as  they  serve  that  end  of  their  crea 
tion,  they  are  under  God's  government.  Yes,  yes;  no 
doubt!''  But  the  manner  in  which  the  good  minister 
repeated  these  closing  words,  indicated  that  such  an  infer 
ence  from  the  familiar  answer  was  wholly  new  to  him. 

To  this  Meg  demurred,  and  put  in  a  plea  for  all  manner 
of  living  things,  wild  and  tame,  as  having  rights  and  privi 
leges  of  their  own  in  creation.  She  thought  they  shared 
the  Great  Spirit's  concern  quite  independently  of  man  and 
his  affairs.  In  her  broken  English  she  tried  to  hold  her 
own  with  the  Doctor,  and  argued  that  if  all  living  crea 
tures  and  all  their  actions,  no  matter  how  trivial,  shared 
with  man  the  Providence  of  God,  they  might  well  have  part 
with  him  in  the  future  life. 

"Paganism,  my  child,  rank  paganism!"  the  Doctor 
averred  with  more  warmth  than  the  occasion  seemed  to 
lequire.  "Would  you  put  brute  beasts  on  a  level  with  a 
child  of  God,  bought  with  the  blood  of  the  Covenant?  The 
Scriptures  have  naught  to  say  of  horses  and  dogs  being 
elected  to  eternal  life,  to  say  nothing  of  such  base  creatures 
as  ants  and  spiders  and  flies,  and  such  like." 

"Oh,  that  nothing!*'  Meg  responded  with  a  confidence 
whose  childlike  simplicity  alone  protected  her  from  the 
sturdy  theologian's  grave  displeasure.  No  man  or  woman 


398  THE   LATIMEES. 

in  all  the  parish  would  have  dared  to  flout  so  airily  his 
judgment  on  such  a  matter.  "That  nothing  at  all!  You 
suppose  Great  Spirit  tell  all  He  knows?  He  has  kept  many 
things  from  the  red  man;  mebbe  He  keep  something  from 
the  white  man,  too!  Indian  chief  has  his  secrets.  What 
for  he  blab  everything  he  mean  to  do?  That  spoil  all! 
Indian  maiden  have  her  secrets,  too;  and  she  keep  them 
in  her  heart  very  close  till  time  comes  to  tell.  Mebbe  Doc 
tor-preacher  have  his  secrets,  too.  He  very  wise  chief;  and 
his  people  sometimes  very  foolish,  like  poor  Meg.  Suppose 
he  tell  all  he  know?  They  no  understand!  Better  keep 
back  a  little.  By  ?n  by  they  get  a  little  more!  Now,  Meg 
think  mebbe  Great  Spirit  have  his  secrets,  too.  He  tell 
some  to  red  man;  some  to  black  man.  He  tell  great  many 
to  white  man  in  the  Good  Book.  But  mebbe  He  tell  some 
more  after  while.  Mebbe  He  no  tell  at  all!  Mebbe  He 
leave  us  to  find  that  out  in  Heaven.  P'raps  that  great  sur 
prise.  We  come  to  Heaven.  There  are  pretty  houses,  and 
trees,  and  flowers,  and  birds,  and  butterflies,  and  horses, 
and  cows.  And  Meg  find  Ladybird!  Ah!  that  great  sur 
prise,  and  great  happy,  too!  What  you  suppose?" 

The  Doctor  did  not  have  to  wait  for  Heaven  to  get  a 
great  surprise;  he  had  it  there  and  then.  He  was  acute 
enough  to  see  the  sweet  reasonableness  of  Meg's  argument, 
but  oh,  the  innovation  of  it !  He  smiled  as  he  thought  what 
his  old  Princeton  professors  and  the  Eastern  presbyters 
would  say  to  such  theology? 

"My  child/7  he  replied,  "we  must  not  suppose  in  such 
matters,  nor  be  wise  above  what  is  written/'  His  warm 
heart  went  out  kindly  and  pityingly  towards  the  maid 
whose  mind  was  still  in  the  shackles  of  paganism.  "Don't 
think  of  it,  dear  child!  It  is  degrading  to  our  ideas  of 
Heaven  and  immortality." 

Meg  yielded  the  argument,  but  held  to  her  opinion. 
She  saw  no  reason  why,  if  this  world  was  so  much  happier 
to  her  because  of  Ladybird,  the  spirit  world  might  not 
also  be  happier  because  of  a  spirit  Ladybird.  Therefore, 
encouraged  by  the  reply  of  Mr.  Nathan  Lane,  she  laid  the 
case  before  that  gentleman.  Nathan  was  in  his  element 
when  dealing  with  such  questions,  and  plunged  with  zest 
into  the  subject. 

"Neow,  Miss  Latimer,  I  quite  agree  with  you.  The 
Doctor  is  a  most  worthy  man,  an'  1'arnt  in  Scriptur*,  an'  all 


THE    LATIMERS.  399 

that.  He's  a  powerful  theologian,  and  has  the  five  p'ints 
of  Calvinism  at  his  finger's  eends,  an'  several  p'ints  of  over 
plus,  I  allow.  But,  bless  your  pretty  face,  when  it  comes 
to  human  natur',  an'  specially  to  brute  natur',  shucks! 
he  has  a  heap  to  Tarn.  My  mother,  God  bless  her!  use  tuh 
say  that  religion  was  mixed  a  deal  like  her  receipt  for  cup 
cake — one  of  butter,  two  of  sugar,  three  of  flour  and  four 
aigs.  One  of  theology,  says  she,  two  of  human  natur', 
three  of  downright  honesty,  and  four  of  charity.  Beat  'em 
up  well  with  sound  common  sense,  says  she,  an'  there's  a 
religion  good  enough  for  a  Christian  or  anybody  else. 
Neow,  you  see  Miss,  the  Doctor  hes  the  theology  in  good 
heft,  an'  maybe  some  of  the  other  ingrejents,  too.  But  he's 
powerful  short  on  human  natur'. 

"But  hyur  we  be  at  the  barn.  Jes'  you  dismount,  and 
rest  yourself  a  spell.  These  girths  need  a  bit  tightenin'  an' 
I  reckon  Ladybird  'ud  be  none  the  worse  of  hevin'  a  leetle 
call  with  her  old  cronies.  That's  womanlike,  you  know. 
We'll  jes'  let  'em  drink  together  out  of  the  barnyard  trough, 
and  rub  noses  and  gossip  friendly  wrhile  they  drink,  w'ich 
is  hoss  natur'  as  well  as  human  natur'.  Especially  in  fe 
males,  who  love  to  drink  tea  and  gossip  together.  An' 
men's  jes'  the  same,  only  changin'  bitters  for  tea.  An' 
hosses  bein'  more  sensible  than  either,  an'  nigher  the  heart 
of  natur',  '11  grow  sociable  over  a  draught  of  pure  spring 
water,  or  a  lush  nip  of  juicy  grass  or  meadow  hay." 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

DR.  MCMILLAN  HAS  A  LESSON  IN  FOREIGN  MISSIONS. 

Meg  dismounted  as  requested.  She  doubted  if  Lady 
bird  needed  refreshment  or  further  social  satisfaction;  aiid 
was  sure  that  she  needed  no  help  to  right  her  riding  outfit. 
But  then,  as  she  said,  she  would  like  to  hear  Nathan  Lane's 
opinion  on  the  subject  of  animal  immortality.  Besides,  as 
she  did  not  say,  she  longed  to  hear  some  word  about  Mort 
Sheldon,  which  she  hoped  Nathan  might  drop. 

Moreover,  she  had  not  yet  finished  her  quiet  survey  of 
the  farm  buildings.  She  noted  the  large  barn  with  one 
gable  banked  against  a  hillslope  and  a  raised  roadway 


400  THE   LATIMERS. 

through  the  double  doors  into  the  barn  floor,  with  deep 
mows  on  either  side  bursting  with  fragrant  hay. .  Beneath 
were  a  number  of  roomy  stalls  for  horses  and  cattle,  all  as 
clean  and  sweet  as  fresh  clover.  These  and  the  hay  ricks 
in  the  stable  yard,  and  even  the  barn  fences,  showed  white 
with  a  wash  of  slaked  lime.  Just  beyond  the  corner  of  the 
barn,  among  its  embowering  trees  of  black  walnut,  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  capacious  cabin  of  hewn  logs,  white 
washed  like  the  barn,  and  shining  bright  among  the  green 
foliage.  Beyond  this,  as  her  eye  wandered,  were  wide 
reaches  of  cleared  land,  and  the  rounded  tops  of  a  young 
orchard,  and  other  tokens  of  a  thrifty  plantation. 

"And  this  is  where  Mor-to-shel-john  lives?"  the  maiden 
mused.  "Ah!  The  Tri-col-or  must  be  a  great  chief  among 
white  men,  even  like  my  father." 

"Neow  then,  as  I  was  savin',  Miss  Latimer,"  Nathan 
Lane  began,  and  his  nasal  voice  recalled  Meg's  wandering 
thoughts.  "The  trouble  with  some  of  these  passons  is, 
that  they  havn't  a  bit  of  human  natur'  about  'em;  leastways, 
the  stream,  runs  pretty  shallow.  They  pitch  the'r  tune  too 
tarnation  high  most  times,  and  nothin'  short  of  catgut  can 
key  up  to  it.  Shucks!  'taint  no  good,  that!  Suppose  neow, 
I'd  leave  the  hay  up  ther'  in  the  mows?  Both  mows  bustin' 
full,  an'  not  a  wisp  in  the  ricks!  Of  course,  the  critters  'ud 
starve.  That's  the  way  with  many  of  the  passons.  Angel 
food  is  mebbe  relishin'  provender  for  the  Prophet  Elijah, 
an'  sech  like,  but  common  folks  has  got  to  have  bacon  an' 
hoe-cake  an'  hominy. 

"Of  course,  says  you,  Passon  McMillan  wants  Heaven 
to  be  so  drefful  spirit'al  an'  ee-thereal  an'  angel-like,  an' 
all  that,  that  ther's  no  room  for  critters.  But  it  'pears  to 
me  that  bosses,  cows,  sheep  an'  sech,  would  make  a  right 
wholesome  featur'  in  any  sort  of  Heaven.  In  p'int  of  fac' 
a  deal  wholesomer  than  lots  of  folks;  for  they  're  cleaner 
and  decenter  in  their  manners,  and  soberer  in  their  meat 
and  drink,  by  a  nation  sight,  than  many  men  folks  I  know. 
Why,  bless  your  heart,  there's  a  plenty  of  people  never 
know  when  to  stop  eatin'  and  drinkin';  an'  with  lots  more 
their  eye  is  bigger'n  their  appetite.  But  my  horses  ain't  a 
bit  that  way;  enough's  enough  with  them.  'Let  your 
moderation  be  known  to  all  men,'  says  the  passon.  Ay, 
says  I,  there's  the  bosses  for  you,  Mr.  Passon!  If  you 
want  to  exemplify  that  tex',  don't  a  hoss  do  it  better'n  a 
man?  says  I.  It  does,  indeed,  an'  no  mistake! 


THE   LATIMERS.  401 

"Neow,  Miss  Latimer,  th're  ain't  any  doubt  that 
Heaven's  a  han'some  place.  It's  a  kinder  double  decked 
affair,  as  I  read  my  Bible.  One  deck's  for  city  folks,  an' 
t'other  for  countrymen.  One  Scriptur  calls  it  the  heavenly 
Jerusalem,  an'  t'other  a  heavenly  country.  Neow,  I'd 
choose  the  heavenly  country,  all  the  time!  But  here's 
suthin'  cur'ous  that  I  onct  axed  Passon  McMillan  to  ex 
plain  for  me.  What  sort  of  a  country  would  it  be  without 
critters?  What  'ud  a  farmin'  land  in  Heaven  ameount  to 
without  hosses  an'  cows  an'  sheep?  Passon,  says  I,  you 
approve  them  hymns  that  sing  of  'Sweet  fields  arrayed  in 
livin'  green,'  an'  'Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swellin'  floods 
Stand  dressed  in  livin'  green,'  an'  all  that?  Hey,  Passon? 

"  'Sartin,'  says  he;  'they're  based  on  Scriptur.' 

"Wall,  says  I,  who's  goin'  to  graze  them  green  medders? 
I  reckon  it  won't  be  angels!  Nor  saints!  Onless,  we 
should  all  be  turned  into  a  sort  of  heavenly  Nebuchadnez- 
zars  an'  eat  grass  like  an  ox.  Neow,  it  don't  'pear  to  me, 
Passon,  says  I,  that  the  Lord  'ud  make  all  them  miles  an' 
miles  an'  millions  of  miles  of  pastur'  land,  an'  not  a  critter 
to  use  'em  for  grazin'!  Shucks!  there's  no  sech  waste  in 
Providence,  as  I  ever  seed. 

"  'It's  all  contrary  to  Scriptur^  Nathan  Lane,'  says 
Passon  McMillan.  Then  he  trots  out  his  everlastin'  elec 
tion  doctrine,  and  wants  to  know  how  dumb  critters  could 
git  into  Heaven  without  atonement  and  the  covenant  of 
grace,  an'  all  that? 

"Wall,  Passon,  says  I,  what's  to  hender  elect  beasts  as 
well  as  elect  men?  An'  as  for  atonement,  shucks!  you  don't 
meanter  say  that  horses  is  sinners,  same  as  we  be?  What 
need  of  atonement  for  them  anyhow,  more'n  for  angels? 
As  for  the  Covenants,  an'  the  like,  what  ye  goin'  to  du 
with  the  Covenant  of  Xoah?  Didn't  the  Good  Lord  take 
the  beasts  into  that  Covenant  same  as  the  human  bein's? 
Neow,  mebbe  that  is  not  pre-cisely  what  ye  call  the  Cove 
nant  of  Grace;  but  it's  powerful  like  it,  I  alloaw,  says  I; 
an'  a  pretty  good  type  an'  sh  adder  of  things  to  come,  says 
I;  as  tho'  the  Good  Lord  had  'a  tuk  men  and  beasts  into 
the  same  sort  of  destiny  under  the  same  Covenant  of 
Mercy.  Neow,  you  say  it's  contrary  to  Scriptur',  Passon? 

"  'So  'tis!'  says  he,  dogmatic  like. 

"No  't  ain't!  says  I.  There's  beasts  in  Heaven,  an' 
pretty  high  up,  too!  says  I.  Jest  you  turn  to  Revelation 
26 


402  THE   LATIMERS. 

IV:  6.  What  do  you  make  eout  abeout  them  four  beasts 
that  rest  not  day  nor  night,  sayin'  Holy!  holy!  holy,  Lord 
God  A'mighty?" 

"'Oh,  them's  not  brute  beasts!7  says  the  Passon,  'like 
our  critters.  Them's  jest  symbols/  says  he. 

"Symbols!  says  I!  Wall,  I  reckon  if  beasts  are  good 
enough  for  symbols  of  high  angels  and  sich,  they're  good 
enough  to  git  into  Heaven,  if  the  Lord  so  please.  Besides, 
the  Scriptur'  says  partic'lar  that  one  beast  was  like  a  lion, 
one  like  a  calf,  and  another  like  an  eagle.  That's  what  it 
says.  An'  I  says,  Passon,  a  dog  is  as  good  as  a  lion,  which 
is  only  a  kind  of  cat  anyhow.  An'  a  hoss  is  as  good  as  an 
ox;  an'  pigeons  and  song-birds  is  jest  as  good  as  eagles. 
What's  to  hinder  them,  too,  from  gittin'  into  Heaven?" 

Much  of  this  was  lost  on  Meg,  who  followed  dimly  the 
details,  but  got  the  drift  of  the  meaning,  and  was  highly 
content.  She  was  encouraged  to  ask  further  questions 
as  to  brute  intelligence.  Thereupon  Nathan  took  up  his 
parable  with  unflagging  zest. 

"Do  I  think  Ladybird  knows  things,  an'  understands 
us?  says  you.  Sartin,  Miss  Latimer,  sartin  sure!  Neow 
there's  that  trick  of  her'n  that  she  played  off'n  you  a  spell 
ago.  Ha,  ha!  One  hadn't  oughter  laugh  at  the  han'some 
little  hypocrite.  But  that's  her  own  trick.  I  never  knowed 
another  hoss  to  play  make-believe  like  that.  An'  why  did 
she  play  it  off'n  you?  Becaze  she  has  human  feelin's,  and 
wanted  to  say  howdy  to  her  kin,  and  felt  fretted  when  you 
wouldn't  let  her  stop.  An'  so  she  set  her  wits  to  work  and 
jest  tricked  you  into  givin'  her  what  she  wanted.  Ha,  ha! 
That,  an'  takin'  down  the  riders  from  a  rail  fence,  are  her 
only  two  bad  tricks,  and  she  rarely  uses  'em,  and  nobody's 
ever  the  worse  for  'em.  But  that's  reasonin'!  What  else? 
Of  course,  bosses  knows  things!  When  we  want  to  com 
pliment  a  man  for  wisdom,  don't  we  say  he  has  good  hoss 
sense?  That's  as  much  as  to  say  that  it  takes  an  extryor- 
dinary  good  man  to  size  up  to  a  hoss  in  common  sense. 
An'  the  bulk  of  'em  is  several  p'ints  to  win'ard  of  that! 

"Do  I  think  they  have  human  feelin's?  Ay,  Miss,  that 
I  do;  or  leastways  feelin's  that  would  do  honor  to  human 
bein's.  If  't  ain't  logic  to  call  their  natur'  human  natur', 
then  hoss  natur'  is  n't  far  behind  human. 

"Yes,  they're  silent,  is  dumb  beasts.  Leastways  they 
can't  talk  very  well  with  us.  But,  shucks!  they  understand 


THE    LATIMERS.  403 

one  another;  an'  they  understand  us.  Don't  Ladybird 
understand  you  neow  when  you  talk  to  her  and  pet  her? 
Who  knows?  If  they  can't  talk  like  us,  they  may  think 
and  reason  and  feel  jest  as  we  do.  They  look  it,  most  times, 
I'm  sure.  Neow,  if  men  were  deprived  of  speech,  and  had 
never  Farnt  how  to  talk,  would  they  hev  any  better  way  of 
showin'  what  they  want  than  hosses  like  Ladybird,  or  dogs 
like  Andy-  Burbeck's  Bounce,  or  his  old  hoss  Rouse? 

"Yis,  yis,  that's  it!  If  men  and  women  had  huffs  and 
claws  on  their  feet  an'  hands,  says  you.  Ha,  ha!  that's 
good!  I  never  jest  thought  of  that,  neow.  I  daresay  it's  so, 
and  that  accounts  for  a  good  deal  of  it.  If  a  man  couldn't 
talk  and  didn't  have  hands,  he'd  be  abeout  as  dumb  a  bea^i 
as  a  hoss.  An'  would  he  have  a  soul  then?  says  you,  Miss 
Latimer.  Why  not?  A  human  soul's  not  a  mere  matter 
of  huffs  an'  claws  and  horns,  I  reckon.  Shucks!  No,  Miss 
Latimer,  it  hain't  no  way  proved  that  animals  don't  have 
a  soul,  after  all,  even  though  it  may  be  a  dumb  sort  of  one. 

"That's  heow  I  argy  with  Mr.  Sheldon,  't  any  rate;  but 
he  ain't  quite  convinced  that  I  be  right.  But  bless  my  soul, 
I  wisht  he  could  hear  you  talk,  I  do!  I  reckon  that  ?ud 
fetch  'im.  I've  hearn  that  he  give  you  Ladybird,  out  thar 
in  the  Injun  kentry.  Oh  yis,  of  course  I  knew  'beout  it; 
heerd  it  from  lots  of  folks  areound  Canonsburg;  an'  have 
seed  you  thar  more'n  onct,  an'  over  to  the  meetin'  house. 
He's  gittin'  along  fine,  Mr.  Sheldon  is,  an'  I'm  lookin'  for 
him  back  to  hum  afore  long.  Shucks!  I'd  jest  like  him  to 
hear  you  talk  abeout  this  matter;  he'd  come  areound  to  our 
side,  sure.  Sartin,  animals  is  immortal;  leastways  there's 
immortal  animals,  I  do  believe.  You're  bent  on  goin' 
neow,  be  ye?  Wall,  good  day  to  you,  Miss  Latimer!  An' 
better  luck  with  Ladybird,  nex'  time  you  ride  out  our  way. 

"A  nation  fine  young  woman  that!"  he  muttered  to  him 
self,  as  Meg  rode  out  of  the  white  yard  gate  and  so  toward 
home.  "Call  her  an  Injun  pagan?  Shucks!  she  knows 
more'n  half  the  dough-faced,  dumplin'-cheeked  geirls 
areound  here.  Smart  as  a  Yankee  school  marm  too,  she  is! 
Ef  there  were  many  young  women  like  her  in  these  dig- 
gins',  by  hookey,  I  wouldn't  mind  makin'  up  to  one  on  'em 
myself.  Talks  amazin'  well  too,  considerin'  her  advan 
tages!"  As  Nathan  had  done  nearly  all  the  talking  himself, 
only  following  the  lead  of  Meg's  few  questions  and  sugges 
tions,  his  conclusion  helps  to  confirm  the  opinion  that  the 
best  talker  is  commonly  the  closest  hearer. 


404  THE    LATIMEKS. 

Meg,  too,  had  her  inward  communings  as  she  rode 
homeward.  They  were  pleasant  ones,  considering  the  try 
ing  experiences  of  the  outward  ride.  Ladybird  had  be 
haved  sadly,  and  greatly  disappointed  and  distressed  her 
mistress.  But  never  was  erring  creature,  whether  horse 
or  man,  more  thoroughly  absolved  or  more  completely 
restored  to  favor,  Surely  it  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no 
good;  and  Ladybird's  "strike/7  though  ill  of  promise,  had 
brought  her  mistress  a  pleasure  she  would  else  have  missed. 

Let  us  see!  She  would  not  have  heard  Nathan  Lane 
prove  so  beautifully  that  there  will  be  horses  in  Heaven, 
and  that  even  Dr.  McMillan  couldn't  keep  them  out.  She 
would  not  have  seen  that  fair  plantation,  with  its  white 
cabin  among  the  trees,  and  its  white  barn,  and  white 
fences,  and  green  meadows.  She  would  not  have  learned 
who  lived  there,  and  what  a  great  man  he  is  among  his 
people,  in  sheep  and  kine,  and  above  all  in  horses.  Then, 
last  and  best,  though  it  came  in  like  a  postscript  to  a  love 
letter,  she  would  not  have  heard  that  the  scout  who  had 
aided  in  delivering  her  from  captivity,  and  had  given  her 
Ladybird,  and  had  fought  so  gallantly  by  John's  side  at 
Fallen  Timbers,  and  had  been  hurt  so  grievously,  was 
doing  well  and  would  soon  be  home,  and — maybe? — 

Ah!  faster,  Ladybird,  faster!  Gallop,  gallop  and  beat 
time  with  your  pattering  hoofs  to  the  maiden's  beating 
heart.  Faster,  Ladybird!  The  woods  rush  by,  and  the 
hills,  and  the  cottages  with  their  gazing  matrons,  and  the 
fields  with  their  gaping  ploughmen.  All  are  rushing  by, 
back  along  the  road  to  Mort  Sheldon's  white  cabin  among 
the  walnut  trees.  What  a  glow  swift  riding  a-horseback 
sends  through  one's  frame!  But  never  did  wild  gallop  or 
wilder  run  set  aflame  in  maiden's  heart  that  glow  which 
Meg  Latimer  now  felt  within  her  bosom.  Do  you  know 
what  it  is?  Meg  did  not  know,  and  was  there  ever  maid 
who  did  know,  when  the  first  sweet  kindling  of  new-born 
love  shed  its  gentle  warmth  through  her  veins? 

Nor  did  Meg's  mother  suspect,  Avhen  she  welcomed  her 
daughter  home  with  her  face  all  aflame  with  gladness,  and 
remembered  the  gloom  that  darkened  it  when  she  rode 
thence.  And  so  she  said  within  her  heart:  "There's  nought 
like  horseback  ridin'  to  chase  away  the  vapors!" 

Welladay!  While  maids  are  maids,  and  men  are  men, 
the  vestal  fire  of  true  love  will  not  go  out  in  this  mad 


THE   LATIMERS.  405 

world  of  ours.  And  that  world  will  be  nearest  to  Paradise 
when  every  Jack  shall  have  his  Jill,  and  every  maid  her 
man.  So  mote  it  be!  A  thriving  land  is  aye  a  wiving  land! 

The  next  day,  Dr.  McMillan  had  a  smiling,,  tractable 
pupil.  Though  armed  with  all  the  theological  artillery  of 
Nathan  Lane,  Meg  had  thought  better  of  her  purpose  to 
use  it.  Perhaps,  because  she  was  not  polemically  inclined. 
Perhaps,  because — well,  what  would  the  great,  wise  man 
care  that  she  had  found  out  where  Ladybird  was  born? 
But  Featherfoot  knew  it  all;  and  seeing  the  rising  flame  in 
the  unconscious  maiden's  breast,  and  knowing  well  the 
signs,  smiled  through  her  tears,  and  remembered  her 
first  and  only  love,  but  gave  no  hint  of  her  discovery. 

All  went  well  with  the  lesson,  which  dwelt  chiefly  upon 
the  question,  "What  is  God?"  Meg  grasped  as  much  of  the 
contents  of  the  noble  definition  of  the  Eternal  contained 
in  the  Westminster  Catechism,  as  folks  are  apt  to  do.  Did 
she  not  already  believe  that  "God  is  a  Spirit?"  Every 
Shawnee  knew  that!  If  she  did  not  fully  understand,  yet 
she  could  adore  that  Spirit  who,  she  then  learnt,  was 
"infinite,  eternal  and  unchangeable  in  His  being,  wisdom, 
power,  holiness,  justice,  goodness  and  truth." 

Wisdom?  Yes!  Look  at  the  stars,  and  the  flowers, 
and  the  trees  and — Ladybird.  Justice?  Yes!  Had  she 
not  seen  how  the  Great  Spirit  slew  Succahanos  by  her  own 
hand,  and  avenged  the  murder  of  Bended  Knee,  and  the 
wrongs  of  her  life?  Power?  Yes!  She  had  seen  Niagara! 
She  had  seen  the  tornado  that  smote  the  forest  at  Fallen 
Timbers.  She  had  seen  the  lightnings  rive  the  oak  into 
flinders;  and  had  heard  the  thunders  echoing  among  the 
hills.  She  had  seen  the  Ohio  rushing  at  full  flood,  and  the 
sun  melt  the  winter  snows,  and  bring  forth  the  grass  and 
leaves  in  the  springtime.  Goodness?  Oh  yes,  yes!  Her 
blue  eyes  grew  dim,  and  the  long  lashes  glistened  with 
tear-dew,  as  she  thought  of  her  home  and  its  loves,  and  her 
deliverance  from  the  Shawnees.  Surely  God  is  good! 

The  Doctor  would  have  been  highly  content  with  his 
fair  catechumen,  and  she  as  well  pleased  with  him,  had 
matters  stopped  there.  But  alas!  into  every  Eden  of  ours 
obtrudes  the  irritating  visage  of  sin.  And  discord  comes 
with  sin.  In  an  evil  moment  for  the  concord  of  the  day's 
lesson,  the  Doctor  introduced  the  story  of  man's  fall. 
Now,  it  was  well  enough  when  the  story  held  to  Adam  and 


406  THE   LATIMEES. 

Eve,  and  the  serpent,  and  the  tree.  For  tragedy  is  ever 
entertaining,  especially  to  children  and  untutored  minds. 
We  shiver  at  the  tale  of  ghost  or  bloody  deed,  but  say — 
"go  on!" 

However,  when  the  Doctor  descended  from  the  general 
to  the  particular,  from  narration  to  application,  he  was  con 
founded  to  find  his  congregation,  for  once  at  least,  in  rebel 
lion.  Having  done  with  Adam's  first  transgression,  and 
how  man  sinned  and  fell  therein,  the  good  minister  came, 
unluckily  for  his  peace  of  mind,  to  "What  is  sin?"  and 
"What  doth  every  sin  deserve?"  His  theology  was  not 
equivocal  on  these  points.  None  could  state  "total  de 
pravity"  in  more  uncompromising  terms  than  he.  Unless, 
indeed,  it  were  Andy  Burbeck,  who,  as  his  wife  averred 
with  grim  humor,  not  only  believed  it  and  preached  it, 
but  practiced  it,  too! 

The  Doctor's  theory  was  that  unless  one  felt  himself  to 
be  thoroughly  sinful  and  lost,  he  had  slim  prospects  for  a 
goodlier  life  here  and  a  heritage  hereafter.  Meg  seemed 
to  take  it  all  in  smilingly,  for  she  nodded  approval  as  the 
Doctor  went  on.  But  he  soon  found  that  she  was  thinking 
all  the  while  of  the  Shawnees.  Thereupon  the  Doctor 
labored  to  set  Meg's  special  sins  before  her. 

"That  all  gone  now!"  the  maid  asserted.  "Meg  very 
good  now  she  white  girl,  and  at  home.  Her  heart  was  bad, 
bad  in  the  Indian  country;  but  she  all  right  now!" 

"Ah,  but  no  one  is  all  right,"  the  Doctor  affirmed  with 
solemn  air  and  mournful  tone.  "We  have  all  sinned  and 
come  short.  There  is  none  that  doeth  good,  my  child,  not 
one!  All  mankind  have  sinned  and  fallen  in  Adam;  and 
that  includes  us  and  all  others.  We  are  all  sinners." 

"What!"  cried  Meg,  "my  brother  John  a  sinner?" 

"Yes,  John  too." 

"No,  no!  Not  John.  Meg  not  have  that!  John  good 
man.  He  no  bad,  wicked  sinner!  An'  mother  sinner?  an' 
father  sinner?  an'  sister  Fanny  sinner?  You  no  say  that, 
Mr.  Doctor?  Hey?" 

"Yes,  my  child;  your  father,  and  mother,  and  Fanny, 
and  you,  and  myself  as  well, — we  are  all  sinners  in  God's 
sight,  and  need  to  repent  and  trust  in  our  Saviour  or  we 
shall  be  lost  sinners." 

"What  lost  sinners?"  asked  Meg  sharply. 

"Hear  what  the  Catechism  says:     'Every  sin  deserves 


THE    LATIMERS.  407 

the  wrath  of  God  and  the  pains  of  death  forever.'  Let  me 
explain  that,  my  child."  And  he  did  explain,  without 
mincing  words,  as  Dr.  John  McMillan  could  well  do. 

But  Meg  never  winced,  and  followed  the  Doctor  with 
unflinching  gaze  through  all  the  details  of  a  Tophet  of 
material  fires,  as  he  heartily  believed  the  same,  though 
loath  and  sad  enough  to  do  so.  But  he  was  hardly  pre 
pared  for  the  reception  his  novitiate  gave  his  teaching. 

"That  all  right!"  said  Meg,  nodding  her  approval. 
"That  good  enough — for  Succohanos!  He  kill  Bended 
Knee.  He  steal  Meg.  He  torture  white  captive.  Aha! 
He  find  out  now  how  it  goes!" 

"No,  no,  my  poor  child!"  interrupted  the  Doctor,  quite 
shocked  at  such  a  corollary  from  his  instructions.  "You 
must  not  speak  so.  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord." 

'Meg  understand.  She  no  want  to  burn  Succohanos. 
Xo3  no!  Great  Spirit  do  that.  And  Winnecheoh  too,  the 
old  hag!  She  treat  Meg  very  bad.  She  more  cruel  to  pris 
oners  nor  all  the  Shawnee  braves  and  squaws.  Ah  yes; 
bad  place  too  good  for  her!" 

Now  the  Doctor  felt  bound  to  interpose  and  explain 
to  his  pupil  that  not  only  Succohanos  and  Winnecheoh,  but 
herself  and  all  her  friends,  who  would  not  repent  and  be 
lieve,  must  bear  the  wrath  of  God  and  pains  of  death  for 
ever.  Thereat  Meg  could  not  restrain  herself.  She  leap  -d 
to  her  feet  with  wonder  and  anger  flaming  from  her  face, 
flung  her  Catechism  to  the  floor  and  put  her  foot  upon  it. 

"No,  no!  Meg  not  have  that!  That  good  'nough  re 
ligion  for  Succohanos!  What  you  do  with  that  good  Father 
who  take  back  Prodigal  son  an'  kiss  him,  an'  give  him  ring 
and  clothes,  an'  make  him  great  turn-turn  an'  pow-wow  an' 
feast?  He  never  put  Meg's  father  and  mother  in  hell, — 
never!  He  never  put  brother  John,  nor  sister  Fanny,  nor 
Meg,  nor  Mor-to-shel-john!  He  too  just,  too  good.  He 
can't  do  that.  He  shan't!" 

The  untamed  maid,  her  breast  torn  with  a  tempest  of 
passionate  indignation,  flung  herself  out  of  the  room,  leav 
ing  the  Doctor  sitting  with  uplifted  hands,  and  horror  and 
amazement  mingled  on  his  pallid  face.  But  the  lesson  was 
not  to  close  so.  As  Meg  fled  the  room,  she  found  herself 
in  the  arms  of  her  mother,  who  had  heard  the  interview 
and  came  to  the  rescue  of  the  clergyman,  as  woman  has 
ever  done  since  the  days  of  Priscilla  and  Apollos. 


408  THE   LATIMEKS. 

"0  my  darling!"  she  exclaimed,  folding  the  heaving 
bosom  against  her  own,  and  kissing  the  hot  cheeks.  "You 
don't  understand.  You  are  a  woman  grown  in  stature,  hut 
a  child  in  these  things.  You  must  listen  and  learn  with  a 
meek  and  humhle  heart.  You  don't  understand,  darling! 
Come  back,  come  back,  and  let  the  Doctor  teach  you. 
Don't  fly  off  this  way,  dear;  it  grieves  your  mother  sorely." 

"Ahbut,  mother,"  Meg  answered,  soothed,  but  still 
unreconciled;  "what  for  the  Doctor  say  such  things?  He 
told  me  you  and  father  and  brother  John  and  Meg,  mebbe 
go  to  bad  place!" 

"My  dear,  that's  too  true,  if — if  we  don't  believe  in  the 
Saviour." 

"Oh,  that  it?  Does  my  dear  mother  believe?"  asked 
Meg,  speaking  softly,  and  patting  her  mother's  cheeks. 

"Yes,  dear,  indeed  I  do!" 

"And  father,  and  John  and  Fanny  and — " 

"Yes,  yes,  they  all  believe." 

"Well  then,  Meg  believe  too!  She  believe  very  much, 
then!  She  no  want  to  go  to  Succohanos!  An'  she  go  tell 
the  Doctor  so!"  Turning  toward  the  clergyman,  who  had 
now  risen,  she  presented  to  him  a  face  as  gracious  as  an 
April  sky  out  of  which  a  thunder  storm  has  blown. 

"Meg  very  sorry!"  she  said  with  downcast  eyes.  "She 
pretty  bad,  mebbe,  and  not  understand  at  all.  She  believe 
very  much,  now!  She  make  big  mistake.  She  know  better 
now.  No  one  go  to  bad  place  but  Succohanos,  an'  Win- 
necheoh,  an'  bad  Shawnees.  Mebbe  some  wicked  white 
men,  too, — sometimes!  Meg  very  sorry.  She  believe  all 
the  Doctor  want  her  to.  She  believe  all  the  little  Ask- 
book  now.  Mother  say  that's  all  right!"  Thus  saying,  she 
stooped  to  the  floor,  picked  up  the  cast-away  Catechism, 
and  with  a  penitent  face  handed  it  to  Dr.  McMillan. 

The  Doctor  was  well  content  to  give  up  the  duty  of 
instruction  for  that  day,  and  rode  away  to  his  manse,  some 
three  miles  distant,  with  more  new  thoughts  buzzing  within 
his  brain,  and  emotions  more  novel  than  he  had  enter 
tained  for  years.  As  he  entered  his  study,  and  threw  him 
self  into  his  big  rocking  chair,  his  wife,  seeing  him  to  be 
wearied  out,  saluted  him  soothingly. 

"My  dear,  how  got  you  on  with  your  catechumen?" 

"Ah,  mother,  don't  mention  it!"  the  Doctor  answered, 
with  a  sigh  of  discouragement.  "It  is  the  old  story,  only 


THE   LATIMERS.  409 

a  thousand  times  worse.  I  have  had  many  a  tussle  in  my 
time  with  callow  fledglings  of  theologues,  who  thought 
they  could  teach  their  grandmother  how  to  milk  ducks,  as 
our  folks  say.  But  Meg  Latimer  beats  them  all!  It  was 
really  shocking  to  hear  that  half-baked  daughter  of 
Ephraim  fly  up  at  the  evangelical  doctrines." 

"Tut,  John,  dear,  why  should  ye  fret?"  said  the  mis 
tress  of  the  manse.  "It's  just  a  little  outbreak  of  natural 
depravity/' 

"Natural  depravity!  I  should  think  so!"  the  Doctor 
exclaimed.  "Good  Lord  help  the  missionaries!  I  never 
knew  before  what  a  task  it  must  be  to  teach  the  heathen.  I 
have  sometimes  thought  that  I  had  a  hard  lot  here  on  the 
frontier;  but  I'll  never  think  so  again.  The  lines  have 
fallen  unto  me  in  pleasant  places,  compared  with  the  lot 
of  missionaries  to  the  heathen  savages." 

"Now,  for  supper!"  said  Meg  with  a  light  heart.  The 
exhilaration  of  preparing  a  meal,  next  to  a  horseback 
ride,  soothed  Meg's  spirit.  The  animation  with  which  she 
turned  to  this  service  as  the  Doctor  rode  away,  fairly 
gauged  the  measure  of  her  perturbation.  Is  any  woman 
possessed  with  a  demon  of  unrest,  anger,  despondency? 
Fly  to  kitchen  and  cook  book,  or,  better  still,  to  the  well- 
remembered  "mother's  receipts!"  That  mood  is,  indeed, 
incorrigible,  which  will  not  melt  before  the  process  of 
cooking  a  good  meal,  especially  if  there  are  loved  ones  to 
partake  of  it. 

With  snowy  apron  in  front,  and  sleeves  tucked  up, 
displaying  shapely  arms  with  the  Indian  brown  showing 
still  through  the  pink  skin,  Meg  stood  at  the  window, 
beating  whites  of  eggs  into  snowy  foam  for  the  griddle 
cakes  of  Indian  meal  that  her  father  loved  so  well. 

A  horseman  rode  up  the  lane.  Meg  heard  the  thud  of 
the  hoofs,  and  peeped  out  of  the  window.  The  trunks  of 
the  trees  concealed  the  man's  face;  but  where  had  she 
seen  that  horse?  She  would  go  to  the  kitchen  door  for 
better  vision.  That  sorrel  horse?  Look  again,  Meg! 
Who  rode  him  side  by  side  with  you  into  the  battle  line  at 
Fallen  Timbers?  Who  caught  him,  grazing  near  the  field 
of  that  first  skirmish,  escaped  as  by  a  miracle  when  his 
master  had  fallen  under  his  wounds? 

Yourself,  Meg  Latimer! 

That  is  Mort  Sheldon's  sorrel  gelding.     And  that  is 


410  THE   LATIMERS. 

the  master  himself,  riding  down  the  cherry  lane  into  the 
maple-shaded  yard.  One  glimpse,  ere  you  fly  back  to  the 
kitchen  fire.  He  is  thinner  and  paler  than  when  you  saw 
him  first.  But  he  has  ridden  the  sorrel  horse  home 
through  the  Ohio  country.  And  he  has  changed  its  name. 
He  calls  it  "Latimer,"  and  not  after  his  friend  John! 

Now  mix  the  spongy  corn-cake  with  deft  touch,  though 
hands  tremble  a  little.  Bend  over  the  glowing  coals,  for 
their  heat  will  excuse  the  burning  red  of  the  cheeks,  by 
and  by,  when  Mor-to-shel-john  comes,  and  takes  your 
hands,  and  greets  you  with  grave  salute  (though  his  fingers 
tremble  like  yours),  and  eyes  that  burn  and  flash  with  a 
light  that  almost  tells  their  tale  of  love  into  your  own. 

It  was  a  fervent  prayer  that  Dr.  McMillan  offered,  that 
night,  in  his  study,  ere  he  lay  down  to  sleep,  for  his  fair 
young  charge  "wandering  in  the  dark  mountains  of  igno 
rance  and  misbelief."  Eise  from  your  knees  with  good 
heart  and  hope,  good  man  of  God!  One  has  come  to  your 
aid  who  will  not  fail  of  his  task,  a  mightier  teacher  than 
thou.  His  name  is  Love. 


CHAPTEE    XLIIL 

A    SHADOW    OF    COMING   EVENTS. 

General  Lee,  commander-in-chief  of  the  Army  of  the 
Western  Expedition,  had  his  headquarters  at  Bedford, 
Pennsylvania.  On  the  20th  of  October,  1794,  he  received 
official  instructions  from  President  Washington  for  the  con 
duct  of  the  campaign  beyond  the  mountains.  The  troops 
were  set  in  motion  and  the  march  across  the  Allegheny 
Mountains  began.  To  most  of  the  soldiers  the  country 
was  new,  for  Western  Pennsylvania  was  then  a  far  Western 
frontier. 

The  roads  were  few  and  rude,  and  softened  by  the 
heavy  rain,  and  kneaded  into  mud  by  the  feet  of  march 
ing  men  and  hoofs  of  horses  and  cattle,  made  slavish 
going.  The  mountain  frosts  nipped  keenly,  and  gave  a 
lively  relish  to  bivouac  fires  at  night.  These  were  small 
matters  to  veterans,  but  to  the  new  recruits  and  volun 
teers  the  experience  seemed  hard  enough.  Their  letters 


THE    LATIMERS.  411 

home  compared  the  march  to  that  of  Hannibal  over  the 
Alps,  and  their  hardships  to  those  of  Washington's  Conti 
nentals  at  Valley  Forge.     In  fancy  they  saw  themselves 
returning  as  conquering  heroes,  crowned  with  the  laurels 
of  military  victors. 

Following  the  rule  prevailing  during  the  Eevolutionary 
war,  as  the  movement  was  toward  the  north  the  northern 
troops  took  the  right,  and  crossed  the  mountains  by  the 
northern  or  Pennsylvania  route.  The  left  wing  moved 
from  Fort  Cumberland,  crossed  the  mountains  by  Brad- 
dock's  road,  thirty  miles  to  the  westward,  and  on  October 
30th  was  at  Bonnet's  Camp  in  the  southern  corner  of 
Westmoreland  County.  On  Hallo weve,  October  31st,  the 
headquarters  were  at  Uniontown,  Fayette  County,  and  the 
main  body  of  the  left  wing  arrived  the  same  day.  The  two 
wings  having  united,  the  corps  advanced,  and  the  close 
of  the  first  week  in  November  found  the  main  army  en 
camped  along  the  Monongahela  Eiver,  between  Parkin 
son's  Ferry  and  the  mouth  of  Mingo  Creek. 

Gen.  Lee  thereupon  issued  a  proclamation,  confirming 
the  amnesty  to  those  who  had  entitled  themselves  to  it,  and 
called  upon  all  the  inhabitants  to  take  the  oath  of  allegi 
ance  to  tl^e  United  States.  A  detachment  under  Gen. 
Morgan  entered  Pittsburg,  and  escorted  Gen.  Seville  to 
his  own  house  with  military  pomp  and  parade.  Thence 
forth,  while  the  army  remained,  he  was  in  a  position  of 
almost  unlimited  influence  over  the  fate  of  his  fellow- 
citizens,  and  his  representations  before  Judge  Peters- 
tribunal  had  great  weight.  In  many  cases  he  used  this 
fortuitous  advantage  on  the  side  of  mercy;  in  some,  it  is 
to  be  regretted,  prejudice  seemed  to  rule  his  conduct. 

Rumors  of  the  army's  march  flew  far  and  wide  through 
out  the  Western  counties.  As  the  troops  came  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  at  last  crossed  the  border  of  the  Survey,  the 
anxiety  and  excitement  became  intense.  Many  were  partly 
assured  by  the  Deputies'  report  of  Washington's  spirit  and 
words,  and  of  the  character  and  temper  of  the  commanders. 
Many  who  had  signed  the  amnesty  reposed  in  confidence, 
although  in  trembling,  under  the  faith  of  the  Government. 
Many  rested  secure  in  the  consciousness  of  their  innocence. 
Others,  deeming  discretion  the  better  part  of  wisdom  as 
well  as  of  valor,  and  resolved  to  take  no  chances,  shouldered 


412  THE   LATIMEES. 

their  rifles  and  crossed  the  borders  of  the  State  into  Ken 
tucky  and  the  Ohio  territory.  At  least  two  thousand  rifle 
men,  it  has  been  estimated,,  thus  fled  the  Survey  to  remain 
until  the  troops  had  gone  back  East,  or  to  make  permanent 
settlement  in  the  newer  West. 

Underneath  all  the  outward  appearance  of  confidence 
was  profound  anxiety.  The  vaunts  and  vituperation  of 
some  of  the  troops  had  been  circulated  everywhere.  The 
threats  of  indiscriminate  punishment  made  by  the  Captain 
Cuttan  Swings,  Lieutenant  Meneters  and  Ensign  McKil- 
lens  of  the  army  corps,  had  been  repeated  in  every  house 
and  cabin,  and  as  usual  with  rumors  of  war,  grew  as  they 
flew.  An  attempt  by  a  mob  of  militiamen  to  lynch  Mr. 
Brackenridge  in  Pittsburg  increased  public  apprehension. 

As  to  resistance,  there  was  none.  The  "armed  combi 
nations"  against  which  the  troops  were  to  operate  did  not 
appear.  Not  a  hand  was  raised  against  the  army.  Absolute 
peace  and  good  order  sat  upon  the  entire  Survey.  Men 
could  not  but  wonder;  for  what  was  this  armed  host  sent 
hither?  What  will  it  do  now  that  it  is  here?  It  made  no 
hostile  demonstration.  The  soldiers  rested  quietly  in  their 
temporary  quarters,  and  their  only  relations  with  the  in 
habitants  seemed  to  be  friendly  inquiries  about  the  land,  or 
purchases  of  needed  supplies. 

After  a  week  of  inaction,  many  began  to  hope  that  the 
clouds  had  blown  over  and  their  fears  had  been  imaginary, 
Among  these  was  Luke  Latimer.  He  had  not  heretofore 
ventured  to  expect  entire  exemption;  his  part  had  been  too 
prominent  for  that.  But  now  he  cherished  a  faint  hope 
that,  having  taken  the  amnesty  he  would  not  be  seriously 
molested.  At  least,  he  soothed  his  wife  with  this  view,  and 
enlarged  upon  the  inviolable  word  and  honor  of  Washing 
ton,  which  had  been  pledged  to  all  who  complied  with  the 
Government's  conditions,  and  which  Gen.  Lee  had  re 
affirmed  in  his  proclamation. 

The  delusion  was  suddenly  dispelled.  On  the  morning 
of  November  llth,  a  squad  of  soldiers  halted  before  the 
Latimer  cabin,  and  without  warrant  or  other  form  of  law 
arrested  Luke  and  bore  him  away  to  Pittsburg.  Brief 
time  was  allowed  for  parting  with  wife  and  daughter. 
John  was  in  Pittsburg  with  Andy  Burbeck  looking  after 
the  pressure  of  business  in  freighting  and  ferrying  caused 
by  the  presence  of  the  troops. 


THE   LATIMERS.  413 

• 

"Now,  Polly/'  said  Luke,  when  the  first  shock  was  over, 
"if  you  have  anny  love  or  respict  for  me,  I  beg  ye  to  kape 
a  stiff  upper  lip  afore  these  soldiers.  Bear  the  stroke  with 
dignity  and  patience,  and  urge  Meg  to  the  same,  as  my 
particular  wish  and  requist.  I  hope  to  be  rel'ased  on  bail; 
but  if  things  come  to  the  warst,  they  can  do  little  more 
nor  put  me  in  prison.  We'll  ask  the  Captain  to  let  Dungy 
go  with  me  to  see  me  safe  to  Pittsburg,  an'  bring  you  word 
agin,  and  there  John  '11  soon  find  me.  So  good  bye,  dear 
old  swateheart!  Sure  the  darkest  day  is  jist  afore  the  dawn. 
Cheer  up,  love!  The  dawn  is  sure  for  til  come,  an'  then — 
p'ace  an'  happiness  in  the  better  day.  Good  bye,  an'  God 
bless  ye,  darlin'!" 

Dungy  was  permitted  to  attend  his  master,  and  the 
cavalcade  set  forth,  Luke  mounted  on  his  favorite  Marion, 
and  the  negro  on  one  of  the  farm  horses.  No  sooner  had 
the  party  disappeared,  than  Mrs.  Polly  completely  broke 
down.  Her  imagination  was  powerfully  affected  by  the 
idea  of  her  husband  being  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  hostile 
soldiers.  She  could  not  draw  a  distinction  between  the 
traditional  notion  of  a  criminal,  with  jail  and  jailer  and 
maybe  gallows  at  the  end  and  a  man  in  bonds  for  political 
offending.  There  was  a  sense  as  of  deep  disgrace  that  had 
befallen  them ;  a  sullying  of  their  family  honor. 

Beyond  that,  and  far  more  serious,  was  her  concern 
for  Luke's  welfare.  How  could  he,  in  his  weakness  and 
suffering,  stand  the  strain  of  trial  and  imprisonment? 
Even  if  he  escaped  the  severest  judgment  from  the  Govern 
ment  tribunal,  the  excitement  would  put  an  end  to  him. 
A  presentiment  of  coming  evil  possessed  her. 

Meanwhile,  Luke  having  ended  his  journey,  was  at 
once  ushered  into  the  presence  of  Secretary  Hamilton. 
The  L^nited  States  Court  was  sitting,  with  Judge  Peters 
presiding.  The  Secretary,  apparently  acting  as  a  repre 
sentative  of  the  President,  assumed  the  role  of  examining 
suspects,  prisoners  and  witnesses. 

"Mr.  Latimer,"  he  began,  turning  one  of  his  piercing 
looks  upon  the  prisoner,  "your  name  appears  on  the  list  of 
those  who  are  within  the  amnesty.  And  yet  you  are  re 
ported  as  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  insurrection." 

"Both  facts  are  true,  Mr.  Secretary,"  Luke  answered. 

"You  were  present  at  the  mustering  of  the  insurgents 
at  Braddock's  Field?"  the  Secretary  asked. 


414  THE    LATIMERS. 

<» 

"I  was  at  Braddock's  Field  muster,  your  Honor;  but 
not  as  an  insurgent/' 

"Ah?    In  what  capacity  were  you  present?" 

"I  went,  as  manny  others  did,  to  do  my  best  indeavor 
to  prevent  voiolence  an'  bloodshed." 

"It's  a  marvel/'  exclaimed  Hamilton,  "how  many  men 
went  out  on  that  affair  with  purely  philanthropic  motives! 
What  a  patriotic  picnic  it  must  have  been,  by  all  accounts! 
Pray,  sir,  were  you  privy  to  any  scheme  to  use  that  muster 
of  armed  men  to  organize  warfare  against  the  United 
States  and  its  officers?" 

Luke  quietly  replied:  "No  such  schame  was  there 
discussed;  at  laste  none  of  which  I  had  anny  knowledge." 

"What  then  was  the  purpose  of  the  meeting?" 

"The  Lord  alone  knows,  sir;  onless  it  may  be  David 
Bradford!  An7  I  sore  misdoubt  Bradford  knowed  as  little 
as  annyone  else.  It  was  a  feckless  affair;  a  wild  and  wit 
less  schame,  the  upshot  of  which  was  an  absurd  decree  to 
banish  siveral  gintlemin  as  had  left  the  country  aready, 
an'  a  harmless  march  intil  Pittsburg  an'  out  agin." 

"Do  you  know  Mr.  John  Hamilton?"  the  Secretary 
asked,  with  a  swift  change  of  the  subject. 

"Ay,  he  is  Sheriff  of  our  County,  an'  Colonel  of  the 
Mingo  Creek  rigiment  of  militia." 

"How  is  he  affected  towards  the  Government?" 

"He  is  an  honorable  an'  faithful  officer,  an'  a  fri'nd  of 
the  Government  an'  of  good  order." 

"Ah?  Another  innocent!"  said  the  Secretary  rather 
sharply.  "He  was  at  Braddock's  Field  with  his  regiment, 
was  he  not?" 

"He  was;  but  as  I  parsonally  know,  he  went  solely  an' 
simply  to  kape  his  rigiment  out  of  trouble." 

"I  beg  you  to  reflect,  Mr.  Latimer,"  the  Secretary  said, 
pausing  and  glancing  sternly  at  Luke;  "that  you  are  under 
oath.  It  is  important  to  the  Government  to  know  the 
truth  as  to  the  part  taken  by  the  active  leaders  in  the  late 
insurrection.  We  are  disposed  to  look  favorably  on  your 
case,  provided  your  testimony  be  satisfactory.  I  warn  you, 
however,  that  your  safety  and  immunity  are  in  your  own 
hands  and  depend  upon  your  course." 

Luke  returned  the  Secretary's  look  with  one  of  equal 
sternness,  and  answered  firmly:  "Sir,  I  think  I  know  the 
natur'  of  an  oath;  an'  Luke  Latimer's  neighbors  will  tell 


THE   LATIMERS.  415 

you  that  his  word  has  iver  been  as  good  as  his  bond.  I'm 
not  onsinsible  of  the  power  of  the  Government;  but  no 
axercise  of  that  power,  or  intimation  thereof,  shall  swerve 
me  from  the  plain  truth.  I  repate,  sir,  what  I  said  about 
Col.  John  Hamilton.  I  know  who  were  the  chief 
fomenters  of  these  troubles;  an'  I  declare  that  he  had 
nayther  part  nor  lot  therein." 

Here  Inspector  Neville  leaned  over  and  whispered  to 
the  Secretary,  who  thereupon  asked:  "I  observe  that  you 
have  a  wounded  arm,  Mr.  Latimer;  how  was  it  hurt?" 

"I  was  shot  at  Bower  Hill  by  one  of  the  Government 
soldiers  within  Giner'l  Neville's  house."  He  turned  his 
blue  eyes,  now  beginning  to  kindle  with  inward  fire,  upon 
the  Inspector.  "I  was  runnin'  to  the  spring  for  water  to 
refrish  the  dyin'  lips  of  Major  McFarlane,  who  was  killed 
while  tryin'  to  stop  the  firm'  in  answer  to  a  flag  of  truce 
waved  from  the  house.  On  the  way  back  I  resaved  a  volley 
an7  was  struck  twice." 

"Ah!  an  unfortunate  affair,  that!"  said  the  Secretary; 
"unfortunate  all  around,  indeed.  But  there's  an  old  say 
ing,  Mr.  Latimer,  which  you  doubtless  have  heard,  They 
that  take  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword." 

"It's  true  enough,  Mr.  Secretary,"  Luke  replied.  "An* 
I'm  not  complainin'  of  my  share  of  the  sufferin's  an'  loss. 
I  took  my  chances;  an'  I'll  try  to  stand  the  consequences 
as  becomes  a  man  an'  a  veteran  of  the  Revolution." 

"You  were  in  the  war  for  Independence,  then?" 

"For  sivin  years,  sir;  an'  was  thrice  wounded." 

"Isn't  it  a  strange  policy  to  seek  to  destroy  the  Govern 
ment  you  fought  to  erect?"  asked  the  Secretary. 

"Isn't  it  a  strange  policy,"  Luke  retorted,  "for  a 
Government,  which  we  fought  to  erect,  to  trate  her  pauper 
ized  veterans  as  they  have  been  tr'ated  in  these  Western 
Counties?" 

"What  was  your  object  in  assaulting  Gen.  Neville's 
house?"  asked  the  Secretary,  hastening  to  change  the 
subject. 

"The  speecial  objec'  was  to  indooce  the  Inspector  to 
give  up  sartain  papers  in  order  to  prevant  the  draggin'  of 
our  citizens  beyant  the  vicinage  to  be  tried  at  Philadelphia. 
That  meant  financial  ruin  to  them,  nought  less.  We  also 
wished  to  persuade,  or  aven  compel  the  Inspector  for  to 
give  up  his  commission,  and  promise  not  to  axercise  his 


416  THE    LATIMERS. 

office  within  the  Survey.  No  doubt,  some  were  also  stirred 
with  passion  at  the  killin'  and  maimin'  of  several  of  their 
neighbors,  who  had  gone  to  Bower  Hill  the  day  afore  an' 
were  fired  on  by  Neville  and  his  negroes." 

"They  came  with  hostile  intent,  did  they  not?" 

"They  say  they  did  not  come  to  do  bodily  harm; 
though,  no  doubt,  their  conduct  was  disorderly." 

"But  they  were  armed  with  rifles?" 

"I  axpec'  so,  indade;  but  that  is  the  custom  of  the 
country,  an'  has  no  sich  significance  as  a  like  fac'  would 
have  in  the  East." 

"You  say  a  man  was  killed  on  that  occasion?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Secretary,  an7  siveral  badly  hurted.  An', 
sir,  it's  worth  your  Honor's  notice  that  the  only  lives  lost 
in  all  these  troubles  that  've  brought  the  army  down  upon 
us,  have  been  those  of  the  so-called  insargents.  If  we'd  'a 
been  the  murderous  lot  that  we're  miscalled  to  be,  that 
could  hardly  have  happened.  In  this  partic'lar  at  laste, 
we've  been  more  sinned  agin  nor  sinnin'." 

"To  return  to  the  Bower  Hill  rising,  Mr.  Latimer.  Col. 
John  Hamilton's  regiment  was  there?" 

"A  large  part  of  it  was,  sir.  They  live  in  the  viceenity, 
an'  had  randyvoused  at  Mingo  Church  for  inrolment  as 
ordered  by  Congress,  whan  the  news  of  the  killin'  and 
woundin'  at  Neville's  came  til  them.  It  was  under  an 
impulse  of  passion  stirred  up  by  that  affair  that  they  acted. 
It  was  a  sudden  outbreak,  at  laste  as  far  as  most  of  the 
militiamen  were  concarned." 

"But  Col.  Hamilton— Col.  John  Hamilton?"  the  Secre 
tary  persisted,  waving  aside  Luke's  plea;  "he  led  his  men 
to  the  attack,  did  he  not?" 

"No,  sir!  He  was  not  prisent  at  all.  He  did  not  ap 
prove  sich  voiolence;  an'  if  he  had  been  in  sympathy  with 
us,  his  office  as  Sheriff  would  'a  handered  him." 

"That  will  do  for  the  present,  Mr.  Latimer,"  said  the 
Secretary.  He  spoke  sharply,  and  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  eyed  Luke  with  evident  dissatisfaction.  "It  seems 
impossible  for  the  Government  to  obtain  correct  informa 
tion  of  these  rebellious  transactions  from  those  who  were 
prominent  in  them.  I  would  advise  you,  sir,  to  retire  for 
an  hour  or  two,  to  refresh  your  memory  in  order  to  be 
re-examined."  He  spoke  to  an  officer  present,  who  con 
ducted  Luke  into  another  chamber. 


THE   LATIMEES.  417 

There  he  was  interviewed  alternately  by  Judge  Peters 
and  the  District  Attorney.  Thence  he  was  turned  over  to 
the  Inspector  and  an  officer  of  the  Philadelphia  Light- 
horse,  who  treated  him  with  great  indecorum.  He  was 
urged  to  testify  that  Sheriff  Hamilton  had  notified  his 
regiment  to  assist  at  the  riot.  When  he  indignantly  re 
pelled  such  assaults  upon  his  honor  and  such  inducements 
to  perjury,  he  was  insulted. 

"You  have  equivocated!"  his  examiner  declared.  "You 
have  evaded  swearing  the  truth.  Your  conduct  has  for 
feited  the  benefit  of  the  amnesty  to  which  you  were  other 
wise  entitled.  Your  life  and  property  are  endangered  by 
your  stubborn  refusal  and  prevarication.  Be  assured  they 
can  only  be  saved  by  giving  the  testimony  desired." 

Luke  was  ushered  into  a  room  among  a  number  of 
prisoners  and  confined  under  military  guard.  At  the  time 
appointed,  he  was  again  taken  before  the  Secretary.  "Have 
you  recollected  yourself,  Mr.  Latimer,"  he  was  asked,  "so 
far  as  to  give  more  satisfactory  testimony  concerning 
Sheriff  Hamilton's  part  in  the  insurrection?" 

"Mr.  Secretary,"  was  the  reply,  "if  the  truth  will  not 
satisfy,  it's  not  in  my  power  to  give  you  satisfaction.  I've 
telled  ye  the  truth,  and  have  related  all  I  know." 

"Sir,"  exclaimed  the  Secretary,  assuming  a  terrifying 
aspect,  "I  am  surprised  at  you!  You  have  the  character 
of  an  honest  man,  and  yet  you  will  not  tell  the  truth. 
You  claim  to  be  now  a  friend  of  the  Government,  anxious 
to  restore  your  country  to  good  order.  Yet  you  withhold 
evidence  against  men  whom  we  wish  to  make  examples 
that  thereby  we  may  enforce  good  order.  We  have  abund 
ant  proof  of  what  you  refuse  to  tell,  and  to  which  you 
could  testify  if  you  would.  Sir,  look  out  for  yourself! 
Guard,  remove  the  prisoner." 

"Mr.  Secretary,"  said  Luke,  speaking  with  quiet  dig 
nity,  but  with  an  earnestness  and  solemnity  that  impressed 
his  hearers.  "I  sheltered  myself  inunder  the  public  pledge 
an'  proclamation  of  Giner'l  Washington.  I  trusted  in  his 
honorable  name  and  unstained  faith,  an'  I  will  add  in  your 
own,  as  well.  If  this  is  an  axample  of  the  manner  in  which 
plighted  faith  and  public  word  are  to  be  disregarded  an' 
dishonored  afore  all  the  warld,  the  damage  done  to  the 
Government  will  be  manifold  greater  nor  anny  which  the 
deeds  or  misdeeds  of  the  Western  people  have  wrought. 
27 


418  THE   LATIMERS. 

For  myself,,  I  care  lettle.  My  days,  I  fear,  are  nigh  spent. 
The  sacred  Word  you  quoted  a  while  back  is  like  to  prove  a 
true  prophecye  in  my  case.  That  grieves  me  lettle. 
But,  sir,  it  wounds  me  with  a  bitterer  hurt  nor  that 
which  is  surely  undoin'  me," — -he  lifted  up  his 
swathed  right  arm — "that  the  honor  and  truth  of 
my  old  Commander  and  our  new  Republic  are  to  be 
trampled  intil  the  mire.  Sir,  I  appeal  my  case  to  Presi 
dent  Washington.  Ay,  an'  til  a  higher  Coort,  aven  that  of 
Him  who  says,  a  righteous  man  sweareth  to  his  hurt  and 
changeth  not!" 

While  Luke  Latimer  was  speaking,  Gen.  Neville,  ac 
companied  by  John  Latimer  and  Morton  Sheldon  entered 
the  room.  The  General  approached  the  Secretary,  who 
after  a  brief  whispered  conference,  turned  to  Luke.  "Mr. 
Latimer,"  he  said,  "at  the  request  of  Gen.  Neville,  I  have 
referred  your  case  to  the  consideration  of  Judge  Peters." 
Then  he  arose  and  retired.  Judge  Peters  at  once  admitted 
Luke  to  bail  on  the  joint  recognizance  of  Gen.  Neville 
and  Morton  Sheldon,  and  when  the  due  formalities  were 
arranged  the  four  men  left  the  court  room  together. 

"Mr.  Latimer,"  said  the  General,  when  he  had  come 
outside,  "you  served  me  a  kind  turn  when  I  was  sore 
bestead  at  the  hands  of  the  rioters  at  Wheeling.  I  cannot 
forget  that  you  have  been  my  enemy,  and  have  aided  to 
inflict  bitter  loss  and  trouble  upon  me.  However,  we  are 
now  at  quits.  Henceforth,  look  out  for  yourself!  I  have  a 
few  words  to  speak  in  private  to  your  son,  and  crave  his 
presence  aside."  Not  waiting  speech  from  Luke,  he  bowed 
stiffly  and  turned  from  him.  It  was  well  enough  perhaps, 
for  hot  words  were  rising  to  Luke's  lips,  and  a  scornful 
refusal  of  the  proffered  favor.  But  Mort  Sheldon  took  him 
by  the  arm  and  led  him  away. 

Seeking  the  shelter  of  a  tree  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  Diamond,  as  the  public  square  was  called,  Gen. 
Neville  opened  upon  John  with  words  which  he  remem 
bered  to  his  dying  day. 

"Capt.  Latimer,"  the  Inspector  began,  "you  applied  to 
me  to  help  your  father  in  his  distress,  and  in  consideration 
of  service  rendered  me — '' 

"Stop,  Gen.  Neville!"  John  interrupted.  "I  must  beg 
leave  to  correct  you.  I  am  sure,  sir,  you  will  do  me  the 
justice  to  allow  that  I  did  not  apply  to  you  on  such  grounds. 


THE   LATIMEKS.  419 

I  came  to  you,  when  I  heard  of  my  father's  arrest,  simply 
to  ask  an  act  of  justice  in  behalf  of  a  fellow  citizen.  In  his 
condition  it  was  only  right  that  he  should  be  admitted  to 
bail.  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  his  imprisonment  was 
due  largely  to  yourself.  I  wished  you  to  know  that  his  life 
would  be  endangered  thereby,  and  believed  that  you  could 
not  wish  that  responsibility  to  rest  on  you.  He  had  taken 
the  amnesty,  and  was  at  least  entitled  to  that  much  con 
sideration.  You  were  the  only  im.n  in  a  position  to  influ 
ence  those  in  power.  What  I  asked,  sir,  was  not  a  payment 
of  a  favor  given,  but  simply  what  I  believed  any  honorable 
and  just  man  would  be  disposed  to  do." 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  Gen.  Neville,  "I  have  listened  pa 
tiently  to  your  long  harangue,  which  permit  me  to  say  ill 
becomes  you.  It  looks  very  like  seeking  and  accepting 
a  favor,  and  then  trying  to  belittle  or  renounce  the  obliga 
tion.  But  we  will  not  discuss  that  now.  I  have  asked  to 
see  you  that  I  may  say  something  which  has  long  been  in 
my  mind,  but  for  which  I  have  had  as  yet  no  opportunity. 
You  once  did  me  a  real  service,  and  I  freely  admit  it.  I 
have  wished  before  this  to  show  my  sense  of  it,  but  you 
would  not  permit  it.  I  honored  you  for  that,  while  I 
regretted  your  choice.  My  act  in  asking  your  father's 
release  was  even  more  for  your  sake  than  his.  But  I  have 
done  something  more,  which  I  trust  may  be  held  as  going 
some  lengths  towards  balancing  accounts  between  us.  I 
have  had  your  name  withdrawn  from  the  list  of  those  pro 
scribed  by  the  Government." 

"My  name,  sir?"  John  ejaculated,  his  whole  form  thrill 
ing  with  surprise  and  indignation. 

"Your  name,  Capt.  Latimer." 

"And  charged  with  taking  part  in  the  insurrection?" 

"You  are  charged  with  giving  aid  and  comfort  to  the 
insurgents  in  divers  ways,  and  being  present  at  the  burn 
ing  of  my  house." 

"Who  dared  prefer  that  charge?"  cried  John,  speaking 
wrathfully.  "He  is  a  villain  and  a  liar!" 

"What  charge,  Capt.  Latimer?"  asked  the  Inspector 
coolly.  "You  will  certainly  not  deny  being  present  at  the 
Bower  Hill  fight?  The  fact  is  notorious." 

"Ay,  and  the  reasons  for  it  as  notorious  as  the  fact. 
But  who  makes  the  charge?" 


420  THE    LATIMERS. 

"The  principal  accuser,  I  believe,  is  David  Dandruff 
of  your  county." 

"Dave  Dandruff!"  exclaimed  John  with  an  outburst  of 
indignation.  "Heavens!  He  is  beneath  contempt.  To 
think  of  my  good  name  and  personal  liberty  being  at  the 
mercy  of  such  a  worthless  varlet!  Sir,  such  an  accusation 
is  simply  an  act  of  malice." 

"We  will  not  discuss  that,  Capt.  Latimer.  What  I  want 
you  to  know  is  that  the  list  was  referred  to  me.  I  noticed 
your  name,  and  made  such  representations  to  the  Secretary 
that  it  was  withdrawn,  or  at  least — " 

"Sir,"  said  John,  "I  tender  you  such  thanks  as  such 
an  act  deserves.  But  I  decline  to  avail  myself  of  it.  I 
demand  a  trial.  Such  star  chamber  doings  are  a  disgrace 
to  our  country  and  a  thrust  at  our  liberties.  You  have 
done  me  an  ill  turn,  sir,  under  the  guise  of  good.  I  will 
meet  my  accusers  and  be  acquitted  openly,  or  not  at  all." 

"Capt.  Latimer,  you  speak  with  the  rashness  of  youth 
and  inexperience.  If  you  do  as  you  say,  you  will  repent 
only  once  and  that  will  be  for  a  lifetime.  Of  course,  you 
will  suit  yourself.  But  all  the  same,  my  act  was  intended 
to  show  a  kindly  disposition  toward  you  and  to  repay  your 
gallant  offices  during  our  river  trip  together." 

"No  more  of  that,  sir,  I  beg  you!"  said  John  im 
patiently.  "The  bare  mention  of  it  offends  my  honor." 

"Let  it  be  as  you  say,  then.  But  it  is  of  something  con 
nected  with  that  occasion  that  I  wish  especially  to  speak. 
You  then  met  my  niece,  Miss  Blanche  Oldham." 

John's  heart  leaped  at  the  name  with  a  sense  of  sudden 
pain  and  impending  calamity.  His  cheeks,  hot  with  anger 
and  indignation,  began  to  whiten  under  the  reaction  of 
an  emotion  that  he  had  never  before  felt.  Something  like 
a  chill  crept  over  him.  A  weight  seemed  to  fall  upon  his 
brain.  He  was  oppressed  as  one  who  labors  in  breathing. 
But  knowing  that  the  General's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him, 
he  sought  to  rally  and  assume  an  appearance  of  indiffer 
ence;  but  felt  that  he  was  not  succeeding,  and  the  agony 
of  an  uncontrollable  self-consciousness  was  added  to 
his  emotional  distress.  He  could  only  muster  strength  to 
say:  "I  had  that  honor,  sir!" 

"Very  true,  Mr.  Latimer;  and  it  was  an  honor.  You 
have  used  the  correct  word.  An  honor,  sir,  must  not  be 
presumed  upon.  There — don't  interrupt  me,  sir! — I  have 


THE   LATIMEKS.  421 

heard  enough,  and  more  than  enough  to  satisfy  me  that 
you  have  presumed  upon  that  accidental  acquaintance  in 
a  subordinate  relation,  to  aspire  to  the  affections  of  that 
lady.  Once  for  all,  I  want  to  say  to  you,  as  her  guardian, 
that  you  are  forbidden  ever  again  to  speak  to  her.  It  is 
preposterous!  I  feel  humiliated  even  to  mention  it.  A 
man  of  your  rank  and  condition  in  life  to  lift  his  eyes  upon 
my  niece!  You  are  beneath  her  notice,  sir!  And  even  if 
the  lady  and  her  friends  had  not  already  formed  suitable 
plans  for  her,  a  man  of  honor  would  not  have  presumed 
upon  an  advantage  such  as  came  to  you. 

"And  now,  to  this  inequality  of  position  is  added  the 
deep  disgrace  that  attaches  to  your  name  and  family,  if  not 
to  yourself,  as  attainted  of  treason,  riot  and  arson.  That 
alone,  were  there  no  other  cause,  would  make  an  impas 
sable  barrier  between  you.  Now  sir,  that  is  what  I  have 
to  say.  I  have  given  you  due  notice.  A  word  to  the  wise 
is  sufficient,  and  I  trust  you  have  wisdom  enough  to  give 
heed.  If  not,  sir — "  He  hesitated  and  cast  a  threatening 
glance  into  John's  face. 

A  tumult  of  contending  emotions  racked  John's  bosom 
during  this  address.  The  insulting  words  traversed  the 
whole  gamut  of  honorable  feeling,  and  touched  every  chord 
in  a  manly  nature  that  answers  with  protest  against  in 
dignity  and  wrong.  He  was  surprised  at  the  seeming  cool 
ness  with  which  he  could  reply. 

"Sir,  your  years  and  your  white  hairs  are  your  defense 
against  the  chastisement  which  your  insults  have  deserve^. 
As  to  the  lady  whose  name  you  have  dared  to  associate  with 
words  which  no  gentleman  could  utter,  were  I  so  bold  as 
to  lift  my  affections  to  her,  or  to  hope  for  a  favorable  re 
sponse,  not  all  the  Nevilles  in  Pennsylvania  or  out  of  it, 
would  hinder  me  from  taking  the  only  answer  that  I  regard 
from  her  own  lips.  As  to  yourself,  sir,  who  are  you,  that 
dare  assail  an  honorable  man  and  citizen  of  the  republic 
with  reproaches  of  inferior  rank?  Sir,  I  know  your  his 
tory  and  your  vaunted  pedigree,  and  I  tell  you  I  am  your 
peer  in  blood  and  your  superior  in  breeding.  I  deeply 
regret  that  I  so  far  misunderstood  your  character  as  a  re 
puted  man  of  honor,  as  to  approach  you  in  my  father's 
behalf,  even  for  a  matter  of  simple  justice  and  duty.  If 
it  were  possible,  I  would  undo  that  and  look  for  justice  in 
another  quarter.  Your  interposition  in  my  own  behalf 


422  THE   LATIMERS. 

I  reject  with  scorn  and  contempt.  I  had  rather  swing 
from  the  tree  above  us  than  owe  a  moment  of  life  or  liberty 
to  John  Neville."  So  speaking,  he  turned  his  back  upon 
the  General  whose  face  was  livid  with  anger  and  wounded 
pride,  and  stalked  away. 

Gen.  Neville  started  forward  as  if  to  follow,  but 
checked  himself.  "Proud  cub  of  a  low-born  traitor!"  he 
muttered.  "Never  did  living  man  on  God  Almighty's  earth, 
save  Hugh  Brackenridge,  dare  flout  and  defy  me  thus. 
You  shall  rue  it,  you  shall  bitterly  rue  it!  I  will  cut  your 
comb  for  you,  my  fine  laddie!  You  have  scorned  John 
Neville's  aid;  look  out  for  his  anger!"  So  saying  he  re-en 
tered  the  court  room. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE  HARRYING  OF  THE  PEOPLE  BEGUN. 

John  Latimer  pursued  his  course  with  slow  pace,  that 
gave  no  measure  of  the  rapid  beating  of  blood  through  his 
veins.  Hot  indignation  at  the  dishonor  put  upon  his  man 
hood  for  the  time  set  other  feelings  in  abeyance.  He 
clinched  his  fingers  until  the  nails  pressed  deeply  into 
the  ball  of  his  hand.  Words  of  anathema  hissed  through 
his  teeth.  His  forehead  burned  as  though  at  a  furnace 
mouth,  and  the  blood  pounded  against  it  as  if  it  would 
burst  through  the  temples.  He  plucked  off  his  hat,  and  let 
the  wind  cool  his  face.  His  steps  quickened  until  he  was 
at  topmost  speed.  He  must  go  so  or  the  sense  of  the  insult 
and  unmerited  wrong  would  consume  him.  Heavens! 
could  he  let  the  man  live  who  had  treated  him  so  ignobly? 

Then  suddenly  there  came  upon  him  the  full  mean 
ing  of  General  Neville's  .words.  Blanche  Oldham  and 
himself  were  separated  by  an  impassable  gulf!  He  stopped 
short  as  if  the  power  of  locomotion  had  left  him.  Gen. 
Neville  uttered  the  sentiments  of  her  kin!  Were  they  her 
sentiments  also?  No!  He  could  not  believe  it!  What 
man  can  believe  that  he  is  held  so  cheaply  by  the  woman 
whom  he  loves?  But,  with  such  an  atmosphere  surround 
ing  her?  hearing  daily  from  those  she  most  honors  and 
loves  such  opinions  as  to  his  character  and  behavior,  what 


THE   LATIMERS.  423 

other  issue  could  there  be  but  that  she  must  come  to  think 
him  unworthy  of  her  esteem? 

He  shot  forward  again  under  the  impulse  of  this 
thought  which  set  his  brain  aboiling  with  augmente  I  heats. 
Men  looked  at  him  strangely  as  he  stalked  along  bare 
headed,  with  face  aflame,  and  brows  knit,  and  eyes  set 
straight  forward,  giving  no  heed  to  anyone. 

He  crossed  the  common  between  the  village  and  the 
garrison,  and  skirted  the  orchard  of  intermingled  apple 
and  pear  trees  which  some  kindly  British  officer  had 
planted  in  the  old  days  of  royal  dominion.  He  turned  into 
the  path  along  the  Allegheny  Elver  bank,  and  strode  over 
the  level  space  once  known  as  the  King's  Artillery  Gardens. 
He  never  paused  until  he  stood  upon  the  point  where  the 
rivers  meet,  and  climbed  a  jagged  bluff  that  then  marked 
the  spot.  He  gazed  westward.  Above  the  intervening 
Bruno's  Island,  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  tingeing  the 
tall  dome  of  McKee's  Rock  which,  three  miles  distant,  rose 
sheer  above  the  Ohio  where  it  bends  to  the  northwest. 
His  face  was  cooled  by  the  breeze  that  sucked  down  the 
channels  of  the  Allegheny  and  Monongahela  and  played 
above  the  beautiful  united  rivers. 

See  there!  The  sun  is  kindling  a  last  glow  upon  the 
dome  of  McKee's  Rock.  Do  you  mind,  John  Latimer,  how 
on  the  evening  of  the  return  from  Legionville  Shooting 
Match,  you  climbed  the  height  with  Fanny  and  Blanche, 
and  deciphered  the  initials  or  names  of  the  French  and 
British  officers  who  had  visited  the  spot  in  former  times, 
and  left  there,  cut  into  the  cliff,  those  tokens  of  their 
presence?  Ay,  and  how  Blanche  declared  that  her  initials 
must  go  into  the  stone  with  the  rest,  and  borrowed  your 
hunting  knife  for  the  work,  but  finding  the  task  too  much 
for  her,  left  you  to  finish  it  ?  Do  you  mind  what  glee  there 
was,  as  you  carved  the  letters  "B.  0.,"  and  "F.  McC.,"  and 
beneath  them  both,  ere  you  had  done  with  it,  "J.  L.?"  A 
flush  of  pleasure  came  with  the  recollection,  only  to  be 
darkened  at  once  with  the  rush  of  bitter  feelings. 

"And  there,"  he  muttered,  turning  his  eyes  toward  the 
south,  where,  under  the  Allegheny  bank  the  keel  boat  lay 
at  its  mooring,  "there  I  first  saw  her!"  The  fair  vision 
came  before  him  once  more.  He  could  see  the  maid 
bounding  with  free  spirits  down  the  bank,  and  tripping  on 
the  gang  plank.  He  could  see — ay,  he  could  feel  her  touch, 


424  THE   LATIMEKS. 

as  she  seized  his  outstretched  arm  to  steady  herself,  and  so 
leaped  upon  the  boat.  Should  he  never  see  her  more  as  on 
that  day? 

With  that  sad  query,  the  mighty  wave  of  anger  that  had 
been  driving  him  on  began  to  subside,  as  waves  go  down 
before  a  contrary  wind.  He  sat  down  and  watched  the  last 
rays  of  the  sunset  fade  away  from  the  ripples  on  the  meet 
ing  of  the  waters.  There  were  no  tears  in  his  eyes,  but  his 
heart  was  full  of  crying.  The  hush  of  the  sunset  hour  was 
on  the  scene,  unvexed  then  and  undisfigured  by  human 
houses  and  burrows,  and  grimy  shops  and  smoking  fur 
naces,  and  steam  tugs  and  ferries  of  Man  the  manufacturer. 
The  breeze  began  to  sink,  as  it  is  wont  to  do  at  that  hour, 
and  with  it  fell  the  high  fury  of  his  soul.  He  was  calm  at 
last;  at  least,  so  he  convinced  himself. 

The  sober  second  thought  had  come  to  him;  but  with 
the  sinking  of  the  flames  of  passion  there  came  also  the 
ashes  of  despair.  What  was  the  use  of  trying  to  do  one's 
duty?  What  reward  has  fidelity?  What  honor  or  profit 
has  the  true  patriot  whose  devotion  has  been  tried  in  the 
furnace  thrice  heated?  What  has  become  of  Truth?  Who 
can  trust  his  fellowman,  and  the  plighted  word  of  nations 
and  rulers,  when  even  the  proclaimed  promises  of  Wash 
ington  are  as  bursted  bubbles? 

He  arose  and  retraced  his  steps.  A  dangerous  mood 
this  for  a  young  man,  you  will  allow.  If  treasonable  plans 
had  been  upon  the  tapis;  or  some  deed  of  reckless  daring, 
with  even  a  shadow  of  virtue  or  merit  or  worthiness 
therein  that  might  appeal  to  his  moral  nature  not  yet 
submerged,  here  would  have  been  an  apt  recruit,  in  this 
stalwart  man  with  his  embittered  heart,  and  his  injured 
honor,  and  sense  of  wrong  rankling  within  him.  Oh,  for  a 
chance  to  throw  life  away  in  one  supreme  rush  of  valor, 
upon  some  foe  worthy  of  his  mettle,  and  in  some  cause  not 
unworthy  the  sacrifice!  How  often  has  the  destiny  of  men 
in  such  moods  as  this,  turned  upon  the  presence  or  ab 
sence  of  the  fitting  tempter  or  temptation! 

John's  footsteps  tended  almost  unconsciously  towards 
the  point  where  his  father's  keel  boat  lay.  As  he  de 
scended  the  bank  he  saw  in  the  dusk  a  group  of  men  seated 
in  the  stern,  which  swung  free  in  the  stream.  They  were 
conversing  in  low  voices,  that  sounded  over  the  water  in 
the  still  air  like  a  confused  murmur.  As  his  tread  along 


THE    LATIMERS.  425 

the  bank  stirred  the  silence,  the  voices  ceased.    He  stopped 
and  challenged  the  party:     "Who  is  there?" 

"It's  all  right,  John!"  was  the  answer  in  his  father's 
voice.  "Come  on,  we  are  waiting  for  you." 

With  Luke  were  Andy  Burbeck,  Mort  Sheldon  and 
Nathan  Lane,  the  two  latter  having  come  to  Pittsburg  with 
farm  supplies  and  a  few  horses  for  sale  to  the  troops. 

"We've  jist  been  in  conference,"  Luke  began,  when 
John  joined  the  circle,  "over  a  most  important  matter. 
It's  a  delicate  affair  altogether,  and  I  would  like  your  ad 
vice  and  mebbe  your  aid." 

"Say  on,  father.  But  if  there's  anything  you  wish  me 
to  do,  you  need  hardly  trouble  to  explain.  I  am  at  your 
service,  and  glad  enough  to  be  engaged  therein." 

"Thank  ye,  my  boy!"  said  Luke,  not  noting  John's  face 
hidden  by  the  shadow  of  his  hat  brim,  as  he  leaned  against 
the  rail  with  his  back  to  the  gloaming.  "But  I  want  no 
sarvice  that  disn't  lape  with  your  own  judgment.  The  case 
is  this.  After  we  left  you  an7  Giner'l  Neville  we  walked 
doAvn  toward  the  boat,  an'  jist  at  the  crest  of  the  bank,  a 
man  whose  face  was  muffled  in  a  cloak,  an'  whom  I  didn't 
recognize,  put  these  papers  intil  my  hand,  an'  'ithout  a 
ward,  ran  away.  At  the  top  of  the  sheet  is  written:  "The 
persons  herein  named  are  proscribed  by  the  Government, 
and  orders  have  been  issued  for  their  arrest  at  midnight  of 
November  13th.  Ask  your  son  to  copy  the  list  and  imme 
diately  destroy  this  paper." 

^Yho  signs  the  note  ?"  John  asked. 

"It  is  unsigned." 

"Do  you  know  the  handwriting?" 

"It's  disguised  by  slantin'  the  letters  back'ard  an' 
writin'  them  large." 

"May  I  see  the  paper?" 

Luke  gave  the  sheet  to  John,  who  entered  the  cabin 
and  lighting  a  candle,  dropped  the  curtain  before  the 
shoreward  door,  and  read  the  document.  The  others 
silently  watched  him  until  he  had  finished. 

"Do  you  make  out  the  handwriting?"  asked  Luke. 

"I  think  I  do.  But  guessing  might  be  unjust,  and 
dangerous  to  one  who  has  enough  to  do  just  now  to  look 
out  for  himself,  but  has  generously  thought  of  his  im 
perilled  fellow  citizens.  I  had  therefore  better  say  nothing. 
Evidently  the  writer  does  not  wish  to  be  known;  why 


426  THE    LATIMEES. 

should  we  seek  to  break  through  his  concealment?  He 
has  good  reason  for  his  secrecy,  no  doubt,  and  the  best 
thing  we  can  do  is  to  obey  his  request." 

Thereupon  he  made  a  transcript  of  the  list,  and  thrust 
ing  the  original  document  into  the  flame,  allowed  it  to 
consume.  The  party  now  entered  the  cabin,  and  at  once 
took  up  the  question,  what  ought  to  be  done  in  view  of  the 
information  thus  mysteriously  received? 

"It's  plain  enough,"  said  John,  "that  the  sender  of  the 
list  meant  us  to  give  warning  to  the  parties  named.  If  my 
conjecture  is  correct,  he  is  a  person  whose  character  and 
circumstances  guarantee  the  genuineness  of  the  list.  How 
he  got  it  is  a  wonder;  but  if  anyone  outside  of  the  highest 
officials  could  manage  it,  he  is  the  man  to  do  so.  The  first 
question  is,  ought  we  to  notify  these  proscribed  men?" 

"That's  jest  it,"  said  Mort  Sheldon;  "an7  we'd  becii 
hevin'  a  little  parley  over  that  p'int,  when  you  came  in. 
As  you  know,  I've  been  sharpest  agin  the  anti-excise  move 
ment  from  the  outset,  as  well  as  yourself;  but  I  give  my 
opinion  that  it's  only  just  and  fair  that  these  men  should 
know  that  they  're  to  be  struck.  What  to  do  abeout  it 
must  then  rest  with  themselves." 

"Ay,"  said  Luke,  "that's  the  way  it  looks  to  me.  I  feel 
a  parsonal  responsibility  in  the  matter;  for  I  know  my 
inflooence  led  some  of  these  men  intil  the  movement;  and 
others  of  them  are  as  innocent  as  the  babe  onborn.  I'm 
not  inclined  to  let  them  suffer  if  I  can  hinder  it;  but  I'm 
afeard  to  involve  others  in  the  charge  of  aidin'  treason. 
I'm  not  able  to  give  warnin'  myself.  I  must  have  aid  or 
1'ave  the  matter  undone." 

"It  looks  to  me  like  a  plain  case,"  said  John,  handing 
the  copied  list  to  his  father.  "There  are  three  classes  of 
men  in  the  list.  There  are  those  who  laid  themselves  open 
to  prosecution,  but  took  the  amnesty  in  good  faith,  and 
have  relied  on  the  honor  of  the  Government  officials  to  pro 
tect  them.  Then  there  are  those  who  took  no  part  in  the 
disorders,  but  failed  or  refused  to  sign  the  papers,  because 
they  thought  themselves  innocent.  And  here  are  some, 
who  like  myself  both  opposed  the  anti-excise  party  and 
signed  the  amnesty.  For  one,  I  shall  give  myself  up  to  the 
authorities,  and  challenge  investigation.  I  am  clear  that 
all  others  should  have  the  same  chance  to  decide  upon  their 
conduct.  The  officers  have  broken  faith  with  them,  and  are 


THE   LATIMERS.  427 

seeking  to  surprise  them,  and  drag  them  away  from  their 
families  at  dead  of  night,  without  process  of  civil  law,  and 
simply  by  military  force.  Such  dragooning  of  citizens  is 
an  assault  upon  our  liberties.  The  manner  of  it  is  an  out 
rage  upon  humanity,  and  a  scorning  of  the  plighted  word 
and  honor  both  of  the  President  and  our  people.  I  give  my 
vote  to  warn  every  man  named  on  the  list." 

So  it  was  agreed;  and  as  there  was  little  time  to  lose, 
plans  were  at  once  perfected.  Mort  Sheldon  was  to  warn 
those  who  lived  in  the  neighborhood  of  Canonsburg, 
Nathan  Lane  those  in  and  around  Washington,  and  Luke 
accompanied  by  Andy  and  John,  were  to  warn  the  Mingo 
Creek  district,  which  included  most  of  the  proscribed. 

The  conference  thus  satisfactorily  ended,  the  party  got 
their  horses  and  ware  ferried  across  the  river,  the  boat 
being  left  in  charge  of  a  hired  man.  It  was  now  arranged 
that  John  should  hasten  forward,  leaving  Luke  to  travel 
easily,  and  rest  for  the  night  with  a  friend  a  few  miles  up 
the  road;  for  he  was  well  nigh  worn  out  with  the  fatigue 
and  strain  of  the  day.  In  the  morning  he  would  press  on, 
leaving  warning  with  those  parties  assigned  to  him  and 
Andy.  They  would  meet  at  noon,  or  as  near  that  hour  as 
might  be,  at  the  spring  back  of  Mingo  Creek  Meeting 
House,  and  confer  about  what  further  ought  to  be  done, 
and  thence  go  home. 

These  matters  settled,  John  carefully  read  the  names 
assigned  to  him,  as  Luke  and  the  others  had  done,  and 
then  the  paper  was  destroyed;  "for  (said  Luke)  it  might 
raise  suspicion  that  would  be  hard  to  soothe  in  case  we 
should  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  fall  in  with  soldiers." 

"  'Deed,"  quoth  Andy,  "that's  rare  good  counsel.  Dead 
men  tell  no  tales,  they  say;  but  that  depands  on  what  they 
happen  to  lave  upon  their  corp's.  'T  anny  rate,  live  men 
tell  manny  a  tale  they'd  fain  hide,  by  bein'  a  bit  too  pro 
miscuous  with  their  letters  an'  papers,  an'  the  like.  What's 
the  use  o'  puttin'  a  vise  on  one's  lips,  whan  his  saycrets  are 
1'akin'  out  at  his  finger  inds,  or  maybe  from  his  pocket 
pouch?  That's  savin'  at  the  spigot  an'  lattin'  out  at  the 
bung.  The  glibbest  tell-tale  agoin'  is  a  bit  of  writin'  in 
the  wrong  hands.  There,  we're  well  shet  of  that!"  He 
scattered  the  finely  torn  scraps  of  the  memorandum  of 
names  into  a  brook  that  crossed  the  wayside.  "An  ounce  of 
prevantion  is  better'n  a  pound  o'  cure.  We'll  jist  put  lock 


428  THE   LATIMEES. 

an'  key  on  our  memories  bewhiles,  an'  he  '11  be  a  rare 
mileetiaman  that  '11  bang  the  gangway  open." 

John  exchanged  horses  with  his  father,  and  galloped 
away  in  the  gathering  darkness.  The  night  was  cool  and 
growing  colder.  The  rapid  motion  warmed  his  blood,  and 
in  his  mood  the  solitude  and  darkness  and  silence  were 
congenial.  The  turtle  dove's  sad  monotone,  trembling  like 
the  plaintive  moan  of  a  woman  grieving  bitterly, — Oo,  oo, 
oo !  had  died  away  in  the  twilight.  Then  came  the  cry  of 
the  whippoorwill,  the  hoot  of  the  owl,  the  howl  of  a  wolf 
from  the  far  summit  of  a  woody  hill.  They  were  not  dis 
cordant  sounds  to  him,  but  seemed  harmonious  with  his 
mood.  So  were  the  night  and  the  rising  wind  that  swept 
in  gusts  through  the  nearly  naked  trees,  and  switched  to 
the  ground  with  a  swish  the  leaves  still  clinging  aloft, 
and  set  those  already  fallen  to  skurrying  and  rustling  over 
one  another. 

On,  on  he  went,  leaving  Marion  to  follow  the  road  with 
out  guidance  of  rein.  He  seemed  to  have  lived  a  score  of 
years  since  last  summer.  A  new  man  had  suddenly  formed 
within  him.  His  own  self  was  separated  from  the  past  by  a 
£ulf.  How  deep  and  wide!  Of  all  Gen.  Neville's  sen 
tences,  two  had  gone  most  deeply  into  his  soul.  "You  are 
"beneath  her  notice!"  These  words  had  maddened  him. 
They  had  been  as  metal  upon  flint,  and  the  fire  had  flashed 
and  burned  until  burned  out,  leaving  the  noble  residuum 
of  lofty  scorn  of  the  falsehood,  and  loftier  purpose  to  let 
the  future  show. 

The  other  sentence  he  could  not  away  with  so  easily. 
He  could  not  banish  it  at  all.  "Even  if  the  lady  and  her 
friends  had  not  already  formed  suitable  plans  for  her." 
What  did  that  mean?  What  else,  than  that  his  hopes,  faint 
as  they  had  been,  or  as  he  had  thought  them  to  be,  were 
forever  quenched?  As  to  the  lady's  friends,  their  plans 
might  indeed  be  balked,  or  be  changed.  What  had  been 
done,  could  be  done.  Unwilling  kindred  had  often  crossed 
unequal  mating,  yet  true  love  had  won  its  way  at  last. 

But  the  lady  herself?  Had  she  formed  other  plans? 
There  the  matter  then  must  end !  Ah !  Blanche,  Blanche, 
is  it  indeed  so?  Then  give  o'er!  As  well  chase  yonder 
jack-o-lantern  flitting  over  the  boggy  bottom,  as  follow 
a  phantom-hope  like  that!  What  substance  had  it  ever 
had?  Had  it  not  been  folly  ever  to  entertain  it? 


THE   LATIMEES.  429 

A  bit  of  selfishness,  too!  What  sort  of  a  home  could 
John  Latimer  offer  a  lady  like  Blanche  Oldham?  That 
man  is  not  worthy  a  noble  woman's  love  who  would  win  her 
at  a  cost  to  her  of  such  sacrifice  as  Blanche  would  have  to 
make  for  him.  Yes,  yes!  She  will  be  happy.  Let  him  be 
content  with  that.  And  if  any  man  can  make  her  happy, 
and  if  any  man  is  worthy  of  her,  it  is  Capt.  Euel  Burd. 
Farewell,  Hope! 

Was  that  a  sob?  or  only  a  clucking  call  to  urge  on  the 
horse?  On,  Marion!  Faster!  The  waxing  moon  is  hanging 
above  the  Western  hills.  It  is  sinking  behind  them.  It  is 
gone!  The  shadows  of  the  overhanging  trees  deepen 
around  the  rough  road.  The  wind  is  chill.  Banks  of  gray 
clouds  drift  over  the  sky,  and  hide  the  stars.  On,  Marion, 
on  through  the  dark  and  the  cold!  Happy  horse,  who 
never  can  know  the  pain  of  such  a  conflict  as  racks  the 
breast  of  the  unhappy  rider. 

It  was  near  midnight  when  John  stopped  before  the 
cabin  of  the  first  person  on  his  list.  He  rapped  long  and 
loud  at  the  door  ere  he  got  answer.  A  rough  challenge 
came  at  last:  "Who  is  there?" 

"A  friend,  with  a  message  from  Luke  Latimer." 

Then  came  the  racket  of  removing  the  bar,  and  the 
click  of  the  uplifted  latch;  and  the  dim  form  of  a  man, 
barefooted,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  with  rifle  in  hand  ready 
cocked,  stood  in  the  half -open  doorway.  In  low  tones  the 
message  was  told.  The  gruff  voice  softened  into  an 
anxioiio  request  to  come  in,  and  talk  over  the  matter,  and 
what  were  best  to  do. 

"No,  thank  you!  I  must  leave  other  warnings  before  I 
stop  for  the  night,  and  then  be  off  again  bright  and  early 
in  the  morning.  There  is  only  one  thing  you  can  do  if 
you  don't  want  to  stand  trial,  and  that  is  to  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  the  soldiers.  If  you  wish  further  conference,  you 
can  see  Luke  'Latimer  to-morrow  noon  at  the  Church 
spring.  Good-night !" 

The  beat  of  Marion's  hoofs  died  away;  but  in  that  lone 
cot  the  sore  beating  of  troubled  hearts  began.  Alas,  for 
the  women  folk  in  times  like  these!  There  will  be  soul- 
burdened  men  and  weeping  wives,  and  crying  children 
enough,  ere  another  twenty-four  hours  shall  have  passed. 
The  next  day  at  noon  John  Latimer  was  at  the  trysting 
place,  but  Luke  and  Andy  had  not  yet  come.  Two  settlers, 


430  THE   LATIMERS. 

who  had  got  the  hurried  warning,  were  seated  on  the  bank 
above  the  spring.  Their  faces  were  woe-begone;  their  manner 
alert  and  nervous.,  as  that  of  hunted  men.  They  were  fully 
armed  with  rifle,  hunting  knife  and  hatchet.  They  were 
off  to  Kentucky,  they  said,  till  the  affair  blew  over,  but  had 
stopped  to  meet  Luke  Latimer  in  the  hope  of  learning 
something  more  definite  of  their  case. 

John  told  them  as  much  as  he  deemed  wise,  then  bid 
ding  them  tell  his  father,  when  he  came,  that  he  had  been 
there  and  would  be  back  soon,  he  went  away.  He  was  dis 
turbed  by  the  grief  of  the  men,  who  were  both  honest, 
hard-working  fellows  with  large  families  dependent  upon 
them.  With  a  caution  which  he  unconsciously  fell  into 
as  if  he  were  in  a  hostile  territory,  he  hitched  Marion  in  a 
thick-wooded  clump  beyond  the  graveyard,  and  sauntered 
along  the  bank  of  the  creek  as  far  as  the  little  waterfall. 
There  he  paused,  and  pondered  his  condition,  while  he 
watched  the  tumbling  waters  running  full  with  recent 
rains,  as  they  dashed  over  the  ledges,  and  swirled  about  the 
pool  ere  they  rushed  off  over  the  rocky  bed  of  the  stream. 

His  meditation  was  broken  by  a  confused  sound  as  of 
the  distant  trampling  of  many  horses  on  the  Pittsburg  and 
Brownsville  road.  He  turned  away  from  the  waterfall, 
that  he  might  be  rid  of  its  roar  and  hear  more  clearly 
what  the  noise  might  be.  A  hunter  running  at  full 
speed,  and  crouching  as  he  ran,  sped  along  the  bridle  path. 
He  was  one  of  the  settlers  left  at  the  spring  a  few 
moments  ago.  He  barely  paused,  at  John's  query,  to  give 
a  hurried  answer. 

"The  Jarsey  Blues  have  jist  passed  the  spring!  They've 
got  your  father  an'  Andy  Burbeck,  an'  are  after  my 
neighbor  up  the  old  Canonsburg  road.  See!  There's  a 
squad  after  me.  Save  yourself!"  Standing  no  further 
question  he  plunged  into  the  wooded  tract  that  covered 
the  hill  to  the  right,  and  was  lost  to  sight. 

John  stood  a  moment  dazed  by  this  news.  Here  was 
a  calamity  he  had  not  counted  upon,  and  his  mind  was  in 
a  whirl  as  to  how  to  meet  it.  Following  his  first  impulse, 
he  ran  up  the  road  to  attempt  a  rescue.  But — he  was 
weaponless!  He  had  left  his  rifle  leaning  against  a  tree  in 
the  clump  where  Marion  was  picketed.  Fool!  when  had 
he  ever  done  such  a  careless  thing?  No  time  for  self- 
abjurgation  now.  A  dozen  lighthorsemen  were  dashing 


THE   LATIMERS.  431 

down  the  trail.    They  caught  sight  of  his  form  as  he  still 
advanced  toward  them. 

"Here's  our  man!"  shouted  Sergt.  Hector  Borem,  who 
led  the  squad. 

"No,  'tain't,  nuther!"  replied  a  familiar  voice.  "But 
it's  a  derned  sight  better  game.  That's  John  Latimer, 
one  of  the  peskiest  traitors  of  the  lot;  an'  one  of  the 
1'aders,  to  boot.  Nab  him,  sure!"  It  was  Davy  Dandruff 
who  spoke,  doughty  David,  who  had  turned  informer  and 
spy,  and  was  guiding  the  Jersey  lighthorsemen  to  their 
raid  upon  his  old  neighbors  and  associates.  It  was  lucky 
for  David,  and  indeed  for  John  Latimer  also,  that  the 
rifle  had  been  left  behind  in  that  moment  of  self-absorp 
tion  and  heedlessness. 

How  swiftly  one  thinks!  A  chain  of  reasoning  may  be 
drawn  through  the  mind  in  a  flash  of  thought.  "To  fight 
will  be  useless.  I  am  unarmed,  and  the  odds  vastly 
against  me.  If  captured  or  killed,  I  can  be  no  help  to 
my  father  or  friends.  Here,  at  least,  it  is  better  to  fly  than 
to  fight.  It  is  the  only  course  open  to  me;  and  there  is 
scarcely  a  chance  in  a  hundred  even  in  that.  But  nothing 
venture,  nothing  have.  I'll  try!"  It  was  the  barest  frac 
tion  of  a  moment  that  John  stood  thus  soliloquizing, 
awaiting  the  column  of  soldiers  galloping  down  upon  him, 
waving  their  swords  and  shouting:  "Surrender,  you  cursed 
rebel!  Surrender,  or  die!" 

"Neither,  thank  you!"  was  the  cool  reply.  Sharply 
turning,  John  sped  along  the  trail  with  a  fleetness  that  in 
his  best  scouting  days  he  had  never  equalled.  There  was 
need  for  his  utmost  endeavor.  His  pursuers  were  within 
thirty  rods  of  him. 

"Stop  or  we  '11  fire!"  cried  the  leader. 

A  bullet  whistled  through  the  leaves  above  him,  and 
by  the  crack  John  knew  that  it  was  a  rifle  shot,  and  that 
Davy  Dandruff's  malicious  hand  had  fired  it.  He  was 
opposite  the  waterfall  now,  and  turned  into  the  chaparral 
that  fringed  the  creek,  intending  to  plunge  over  the  bank, 
and  follow  the  stream  for  a  little  way.  Thus  he  would 
throw  the  horsemen  off  the  track  and  compel  them  to  dis 
mount,  and  then  he  would  enter  the  thick  brush  beyond, 
where  the  horses  could  not  follow,  and  trust  to  skill  and 
speed  to  elude  his  pursuers. 

Down  the  steep  bank  he  plunged,  turning  one  glance 


432  THE   LATIMERS. 

backward  ere  he  disappeared.  Dandruff,  Borem  and  two 
troopers  were  close  behind  him.  The  others  were  riding 
on  apparently  to  head  off  the  fugitive. 

"Ah!  It  is  rather  close  quarters  for  comfort,"  John 
muttered.  "It  looks  as  if  my  cake  were  dough,  as  dear  old 
Andy  would  say."  A  grim  sense  of  the  humor  of  the  situa 
tion,  as  Andy  might  look  at  it,  flashed  through  his  mind, 
even  at  that  moment,  and  he  smiled,  and  wondered  that  it 
could  be  so.  "But  never  say  die!  Perhaps  there's  a  chance 
yet.  Ah?— well,  I'll  try  it!" 

He  turned  upon  his  path,  threaded  the  verge  of  the  pool 
which  whirled  and  foamed  at  his  feet,  and  darting  under 
the  waterfall,  crept  along  the  lower  ledge,  and  lay  moist 
but  safe  beneath  the  jutting  shelf  above  him.  The  rock 
over  which  the  stream  descends  is  composed  of  three  shelv 
ing  limestone  slabs,  that  rise  one  above  another  to  the 
height  of  twelve  or  fifteen  feet.  As  the  creek  now  ran 
full,  the  shoot  of  the  water  was  so  strong  that  John  had 
plenty  of  space  for  breathing,  and  through  a  narrow  rift  in 
the  cataract  could  see  what  went  on  before  him. 

Dandruff  and  Sergt.  Borem  flung  themselves  from  their 
horses,  and  followed  by  two  troopers,  rushed  down  the 
steep  bank,  confident  that  John  could  not  yet  have  left  the 
bed  of  the  creek. 

"Where  is  he?"  cried  the  Sergeant,  puffing  between  his 
words.  "I — don't — see  him — at  all!" 

"No  more  do  I!"  answered  Dandruff,  shouting  aloud  to 
drown  the  noise  of  the  waters.  "He  must  'a  got  acrost 
somehow.  Some  of  you  fellers  run  down  the  crick,  an'  head 
him  off.  Follow  me,  an'  we'll  have  the  slippery  rascal  yit." 

"Ay,  slippery  indeed,  Davy!"  quoth  John,  laying  his 
hand  against  the  slimy  rock. 

Without  further  ceremony  Davy  jumped  into  the  nar 
row  stream,  waded  across,  and  swinging  up  the  opposite 
bank  disappeared  into  the  bosky  border.  Sergt.  Borem 
followed  somewhat  more  daintily,  and  the  two  troopers 
joined  the  hue  and  cry.  Fortunately  for  John,  who  could 
note  from  his  cramped  and  damp  position  all  that 
transpired,  the  searchers  soon  returned.  They  were  won 
dering  and  discussing,  with  many  an  oath  and  expletive, 
how  their  quarry  could  have  escaped.  They  were  beat 
ing  the  brush  wherever  the  undergrowth  was  dense,  and 
thrusting  their  swords  into  every  bushy  clump. 


THE   LATIMEES.  433 

"He  came  down  jist  here,"  said  Davy.  "Thar!  Don't 
you  see  whar  his  feet  tore  up  the  turf  as  he  jumped  over 
the  aidge?  He  must  'a  gone  down  the  crick,  an'  got  out 
on  t'other  side  somewhar.  But  he's  left  nary  trail." 

"How  fortunate!"  John  soliloquized,  "that  I  took  the 
rocky  edge  of  the  path,  as  I  ran  in.  It  was  quite  uncon 
sciously  done.  Ah,  dear  old  Panther!  Your  lessons  of 
habitual  caution  have  stood  me  in  good  stead.  Yet,  if  eyes 
as  keen  as  yours  were  on  the  trail  instead  of  stupid  Dave 
Dandruff's,  there  would  he  small  chance  for  me." 

"It  bates  me  all  holler,"  continued  Davy,  "whar  that 
dawgoned  critters  gone  ter,  an'  how  he  got  away.  The 
ornary  slink!  He  couldn't  'a  flitted  up'ards,  for  he's  not 
a  bird.  An'  by  gum!  he's  no  angel.  He  couldn't  'a  swum, 
for  he's  no  fish,  an'  nawthin'  but  a  snake, — though  he's  tar 
nation  nigh  one! — could  'a  hid  hisself  in  yan  brush,  and 
we  not  find  'im.  Onless, — he's  gone  straight  downward? 
Wall,  I  shouldn't  wonder!  I  niver  thought  of  that!  They 
do  say  the  deil  is  iver  good  til  his  own;  and  nobody  but 
old  Nick  could  ?ve  helped  John  Latimer  git  the  better  of 
me  so  manny  times  as  he  has.  Jimmy  crackies!  I  b'lieve 
I  do  smell  sulphur!"  The  strapping  gawk  paused,  and 
looked  uneasily  around  as  if  half  convinced  that  his  last 
theory  might  be  true,  and  that  John  had  mysteriously 
disappeared  into  Hades  by  the  aid  of  Beelzebub. 

"Maybe  he's  drownded,"  suggested  one  of  the  troopers; 
"an'  is  down  there  in  the  pool." 

"Sure  enough!"  exclaimed  Davy.  "Let's  look!"  He 
seized  a  long  dead  branch  which  lay  at  the  water's  edge, 
and  strode  toward  the  pool,  to  probe  for  the  supposed 
corpse. 

"Come  away!"  said  Sergt.  Borem.  "If  he's  drowned, 
he's  safe  enough.  But  from  what  you've  said  of  him,  that's 
not  likely,  for  he  must  've  been  born  to  be  hung.  Wherever 
he  is,  he's  gone  and  let  him  go!  He  wasn't  on  our  list, 
anyhow,  and  the  Leftenant  will  be  as  mad  as  a  wet  hen  if 
we  don't  get  back  pretty  soon." 

Much  to  John's  relief  the  party  left.  When  due  time 
had  been  allowed  for  them  to  get  safely  out  of  the  way,  he 
cautiously  crawled  forth.  He  was  'thoroughly  wet,  and 
chilled  to  the  marrow,  and  cramped  by  the  scant  quarters 
in  which  he  had  lain.  He  climbed  the  bank,  and  having 
assured  himself  that  his  pursuers  were  gone,  wrung  the 
28 


434  THE  LATIMERS. 

water  from  his  coat,  and  swung  his  arms  vigorously  until 
the  blood  circulated  warmly.  Then  he  got  his  horse, 
who  had  honored  his  war  training  by  keeping  quiet  during 
all  the  racket  made  by  the  soldiers,  and  had  therefore 
not  been  discovered.  He  looked  to  the  priming  of  his 
rifle,  and  cautiously  followed  the  lighthorsemen's  trail. 
It  was  broad  enough,  and  led  to  Parkinson's  Ferry. 

Outside  the  village  he  stopped  at  a  farmhouse  for  re 
freshment  and  warmth,  for  his  wet  garments  and  the  cold 
November  air  had  chilled  him  through.  He  was  recog 
nized  by  the  farmer's  wife  as  the  man  who,  in  the  early 
morning,  had  given  warning  to  her  husband,  who  was  now 
in  hiding.  The  grateful  woman,  though  greatly  troubled, 
and  timorous  lest  she  might  bring  ill  usage  upon  herself 
and  family,  gave  John  a  hospitable  welcome. 

A  roaring  hickory  fire  in  the  great  open  chimney  and 
a  generous  meal  soon  restored  him  to  comfort.  Ere  he  had 
finished,  a  neighbor  dropped  in,  from  whom  he  learned 
that  Luke  and  Andy  had  been  taken  to  a  tavern  owned 
by  Parkinson  and  kept  by  a  man  named  Stockdale.  The 
rumor  ran  that  they  had  been  rudely  received  by  Gen. 
Bloodson,  who  commanded  a  small  corps  of  Jersey  light- 
horsemen.  This  officer  cursed  them  as  rascals  and  rebels, 
and  imprisoned  them  in  a  cellar,  tied  back  to  back  and 
guarded  by  a  sentinel.  The  cellar  extended  the  whole 
length  of  a  new  log  barn  which  had  not  been  floored  or 
daubed.  It  was  wet  and  muddy,  and  neither  fire  nor  vic 
tuals  and  drink  were  allowed  the  prisoners.  Full  of  anxiety 
for  his  father's  health  under  such  treatment,  although  he 
apprehended  no  more  serious  consequences,  John  left 
Marion  with  the  hospitable  cotter,  and  started  forth  re 
solved  by  hook  or  crook  to  rescue  his  father,  or  at  least 
secure  his  comfortable  treatment. 


THE   LATIMEKS.  435 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE  DREADFUL  NIGHT. 

The  capture  of  Luke  Latimer  and  Andy  Burbeck  was  an 
accident.  Gen.  Lee's  orders  issued  from  his  headquarters 
at  Parkinson's  Ferry  on  November  9th  thus  began:  "From 
the  delays  and  danger  of  escapes  which  attend  the  present 
situation  of  judiciary  investigation  to  establish  preliminary 
processes  against  offenders,  it  is  deemed  advisable  to  pro 
ceed  in  a  summary  manner,  in  the  most  disaffected  scenes, 
against  those  who  have  notoriously  committed  treasonable 
acts.  That  is,  to  employ  military  for  the  purpose  of  appre 
hending  and  bringing  such  persons  before  the  Judge  of  the 
District,  to  be  by  him  examined  and  dealt  with  according 
to  law/' 

The  "treasonable  acts"  referred  to  were  defined  "as  fir 
ing  upon,  imprisoning  and  interrupting  the  United  States 
Marshal  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty;  two  attacks  upon  the 
house  of  John  Neville;  assembling  or  aiding  to  assemble  an 
army  at  Braddock's  Field;  the  assembling  and  acting  as 
delegates  in  the  Parkinson's  Ferry  meeting  of  August  14th; 
the  meeting  at  Mingo  Creek  Meeting  House,  termed  a 
Society,  sometimes  a  Congress;  the  destruction  of  property, 
and  the  expulsion  of  persons  from  Pittsburg;  plundering 
the  public  mail;  violence  done  to  revenue  officers,  and 
finally  the  planting  of  May  Poles,  impudently  called  Lib 
erty  Poles,  with  the  intention  to  countenance  and  co-oper 
ate  in  the  insurrection." 

Three  lists  were  included  in  the  orders.  The  first  had 
the  names  of  those  who  complied  with  the  terms  of 
amnesty,  and  were  entitled  to  exemption  from  arrest  and 
punishment.  The  second,  those  who  were  understood  to 
have  committed  acts  of  treason,  and  therefore  might  be 
safely  apprehended.  The  third  list  included  the  names  of 
desirable  witnesses,  who  were  to  be  treated  as  such  when 
captured.  Moreover,  carte  blanche  was  given  to  officers  in 
charge  of  the  arrests  to  apprehend  others  of  whom,  in  the 
course  of  their  operations,  they  might  receive  satisfactory 
information  that  they  had  committed,  like  acts. 

"Direct  all  whom  you  may  apprehend,"  the  general 


436  THE   LATIMEES. 

order  concluded,  "to  be  conveyed  to  your  camp  until 
further  orders.  Send  off  your  parties  of  horse  with  good 
guides,  and  at  such  a  period  as  to  make  the  surprise,  how 
ever  distant  or  near,  at  the  same  moment;  or  intelligence 
will  precede  them,  and  some  of  the  culprits  will  escape.  I 
presume  the  proper  hour  will  be  at  daybreak  of  Thursday 
morning,  and  have  therefore  desired  the  operation  to  be 
thus  performed  in  every  quarter." 

To  execute  this  extraordinary  order  in  the  Mingo 
Creek  district  a  guide  was  required;  and  David  Dandruff 
made  his  peace  with  the  authorities  by  offering  himself  for 
this  disreputable  service.  That  all  might  be  ready  for  the 
occasion,  Lieut.  Meneter  had  been  sent  out,  ostensibly 
upon  foraging  duty,  but  really  to  bring  the  guide  into 
camp.  Had  not  Dandruff  been  present  when  the  squad 
passed  the  Meeting  House  spring,  Luke  Latimer  and  Andy 
would  probably  have  been  unmolested.  But  Davy  was  full 
of  rancor  towards  the  Latimers.  Therefore,  when  a 
stroke  of  unwonted  good  fortune  threw  these  men  across 
his  path,  under  conditions  that  enabled  him  to  gratify  his 
pique,  he  induced  Lieut.  Meneter  to  arrest  them. 

The  prisoners  were  reported  to  Gen.  Ledger  Bloodson. 
"Turn  'em  into  the  cellar,  blast  'em!"  he  commanded. 
"It's  better  than  they  deserve.  They'll  have  plenty  of 
company  by  and  by." 

So  saying,  he  went  his  way,  leaving  the  prisoners  in 
charge  of  Meneter.  That  worthy  assigned  them  to  Ensign 
McKillen,  who  turned  them  over  to  Sergt.  Borem,  who 
fulfilled  his  duty  by  setting  over  them  a  sentinel,  with 
arrangements  for  relieving  guard.  The  sentinel  proceeded 
to  make  himself  comfortable  by  kindling  a  fire  in  the 
end  of  the  cellar  opposite  to  his  prisoners.  Then  he  laid 
planks  to  protect  his  feet  from  the  mud,  and  fitted  up  a 
rude  slab  seat  whereon  he  deposited  himself  with  a  curse 
at  the  disagreeable  duty  imposed  upon  him.  He  was  a 
hulking  raw-boned  fellow,  with  an  undue  proportion  of 
legs,  and  a  lean  and  hungry-looking  face  not  without  some 
traces  of  good  nature.  The  cheeks  were  fringed  by  a 
straggling  growth  of  shocky  light  hair,  that  hung  down 
his  neck,  and  projected  in  a  tuft  from  the  visor  of  his 
military  hat,  which  article  was  worn  in  a  decidedly  un- 
military  way  on  the  back  of  his  skull. 

Andy  from  his  corner  listened  closely  to  the  sentinel's 


THE    LATIMERS.  437 

grumbling,  and  busied  himself  in  taking  the  man's  meas 
ure,  for  he  had  resolved  to  buy  or  break  his  way  out  of 
that  den.  He  was  not  much  concerned  for  himself,  but 
his  indignation  and  pity  were  alike  excited  in  behalf  of  his 
suffering  friend. 

"Jist  turn  round  a  bit,  Luke,  if  ye  pl'ase,"  he  whis 
pered.  "I  want  to  git  a  full  view  of  that  chap,  an'  mebbe 
git  sp'ach  of  him." 

Luke  turned  toward  the  wall,  and  thus  brought  Andy 
facing  the  guard,  as  the  two  were  tied  back  to  back.  Andy 
had  heard  the  soldier  addressed  by  the  sergeant  as 
"Lanky,"  and  by  one  of  his  comrades  as  "Towhead."  But 
deeming  neither  of  these  epithets  sufficiently  compli 
mentary  for  his  purpose,  he  fell  back  upon  his  well-worn 
device  of  imaginary  promotion. 

"Mr.  Sergeant!"  he  cried.    "Hi,  Mr.  Sergeant!" 

The  sentinel  gruffly  asked  if  he  meant  him. 

"Ay,  sir;  that's  jist  what  A'  mane,  an'  nothin'  shorter. 
Wud  your  honor  be  pl'ased  to  come  over  here  for  a  minute. 
A've  somethin'  important  to  communicate  til  ye." 

The  trooper,  made  complaisant  by  such  mollifying 
titles,  came  up  and  demanded  what  he  wanted. 

,  "Dod!"  said  Andy,  "that's  an  odd  quistion  for  a  gintle- 
man  of  your  intilligence.  Jist  look'  how  they've  trussed 
us  up;  an'  my  fri'nd,  here,  a  sick  an'  sore  hurted  man. 
You're  a  gintleman  yoursilf,  now,  an'  how  wud  ye  like  sich 
tr'atement?" 

"I  vum!  It  must  be  mighty  oncomfor'ble!"  said 
Lanky,  who  was  not  a  bad-natured  fellow  at  bottom,  and 
not  insensible  to  Andy's  deferential  address.  "But  then, 
I'm  not  a  rebel,  you  know,  and  you  be." 

"A  rebel!"  exclaimed  Andy  with  a  tone  of  injured 
innocence.  "Hear  til  him!  Do  we  look  like  that  sort  of 
folk?  Look  at  my  fri'nd  here!  He's  one  of  the  most 
respictable  men  in  the  Western  counties,  an'  well  able  to 
reward  a  man  that'll  do  him  a  good  turn.  He  were  saized 
up  on  the  roadside  'ithout  right  or  r'ason,  an'  clapped 
intil  this  hole,  whan  he  ought  to  be  snug  a-bed.  This  sort 
o'  tr'atement  is  like  to  kill  him,  an'  ye'll  be  responsible  for 
that, if  ye  don't  help  him.  Marcy,  man!  wud  ye  see  a  Chris 
tian  gintlemin  like  that  burn  himself  away  afore  his  time, 
like  a  gutterin'  candle?  Besides  that,  aven  if  we  were 
insargents,  as  they  call  our  folk,  don't  you  think  we're 


438  THE   LATIMEKS. 

flesh  an'  blood  the  same  as  yoursilf  ?  Aven  the  divil  isn't 
as  black  as  he's  painted,  sir;  an'  ye'll  find  us  a  dacenter  lot 
nor  you've  fancied,  if  you'll  do  the  clane  thing  by  us.  So 
jist  loosen  up  this  cord  a  bit,  an'  let  my  hand  free.  A've 
got  some  new  levies  in  my  pocket,  an'  ye  shall  share  'em 
ginerously  if  ye'll  let  me  git  at  them  wanct." 

To  be  spoken  to  like  a  gentleman,  and  offered  a  hand 
some  bonus  was  a  sore  temptation  to  the  raw  recruit,  who 
had  just  served  out  his  time  as  a  bound  boy  to  a  hard- 
fisted  Jersey  farmer. 

"I  dunno,  mister.  I'd  like  to  help  you  amazin'.  It's 
not  right  to  treat  human  bein's  like  cattle.  I  vum!  I've 
had  my  fill  of  that  business."  The  bumpkin's  gaunt  face 
flushed  at  the  recollection  of  the  hardships  he  had  so  lately 
escaped.  "I'm  mortal  sorry  for  you,  that's  a  fack.  But — " 

"Well,  then,  Sergeant,"  Andy  interrupted,  "jist  show 
your  sorrow  by  your  deed.  'I  love  ye,'  said  the  cobbler  to 
the  cow,  and  whacked  her  with  his  stick.  'I  love  you!' 
said  the  cow  to  the  cobbler,  and  gave  him  down  a  foamin' 
bucket  of  milk.  Which  was  the  better  Christian,  now,  the 
cobbler  or  the  cow?" 

"The  cow,  by  jing!"  said  Lanky. 

"A  true  shot,  Sergeant!  You  hit  the  bull's  eye  that 
time.  Eight  levies  make  a  dollar,  an'  there's  a  silver 
dollar  til  ye  for  actin'  like  a  Christian.  If  ye'll  jist  slip 
that  knot  a  bit  A'll  do  the  rest,  an'  nobody'll  be  the  wiser." 

"Dumbit!  I'll  do  it!"  said  the  sentinel.  And  he  did 
it.  Then  he  went  back  to  the  fire,  chinking  eight  York 
shillings  in  his  pocket,  and  with  a  sense  of  having  done  a 
good  act  besides. 

Andy,  having  one  arm  free,  soon  set  both  Luke  and 
himself  at  liberty.  The  tightly  drawn  cords  had  stopped 
the  circulation  of  the  blood,  and  this,  added  to  the  frost  and 
damp  air,  had  left  them  both  cold  and  thoroughly  uncom 
fortable,  while  Luke  shivered  with  a  chill.  They  could 
stamp  about  even  though  the  floor  was  sticky  clay,  and  that 
gave  some  relief;  but  Luke's  teeth  chattered  and  his  limbs 
still  shook. 

"Come,"  said  Andy,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  "we  must 
go  to  the  fire." 

"No,  no;  the  officer  forbade  that,  you  know."  It  was 
almost  the  first  word  that  Luke  had  spoken  since  his  en 
trance  into  his  cellar  prison.  He  had  lost  heart,  and  a 


THE   LATIMERS.  439 

strange  stupor  had  fallen  upon  his  feelings.  He  wanted 
to  sleep,  but  could  not  for  the  pain  of  his  wound,  and  for 
the  cold  that  struck  through  to  his  marrow,  and  the  burn 
ing  heat  that  flushed  thereafter.  Never  had  Andy  seen 
his  friend  in  such  a  plight. 

"Drat  the  officer,  and  all  his  kith  and  kin!"  he  cried. 
"Do  ye  think  A'm  a-gahin'  to  stand  here  like  a  bound  boy 
at  a  huskin'  an'  see  you  suffer  an'  mabbe  warse?  Gin  A' 
do  that,  how  could  A'  iver  look  Polly  Latimer  an'  John 
in  the  face?  No  sirree!  Yonder  lout  of  a  guard  is  a  good- 
natured  clodhopper;  an'  besides,  he's  gone  too  far  a'ready 
to  refuse  a  little  more  favor.  For  when  you've  slicked  a 
man's  hand  with  a  bribe,  you've  put  a  noose  about  his 
neck,  an'  may  pull  him  at  your  pleasure.  Sergt.  Borem  is 
not  like  to  come  this  way  soon,  and  no  odds  if  he  does.  A' 
would  as  lief  or  liefer  see  you  shot  to  death  as  shiver  to 
death.  Jist  come  along,  my  dear  fellow,  and  bandy  no 
more  words." 

Lanky,  whose  real  name  was  Amos  Huddle,  made  a 
show  of  standing  by  his  orders.  But  the  virtue  of  a 
Mexican  quarter  eased  up  the  bands  of  discipline,  and  he 
agreed  to  watch  at  the  entrance  for  the  coming  of  the 
sergeant  till  the  two  men  got  thoroughly  warmed.  More 
over,  as  no  one  seemed  inclined  to  disturb  his  solitary 
watch,  and  grown  bolder  by  immunity,  he  consented  to 
transfer  the  board  that  had  kept  his  own  feet  from  the 
muxy  floor  to  the  prisoner's  side  of  the  cellar;  and  further 
to  aid  Andy  in  fixing  up  a  rude  seat  for  Luke. 

"I  vum!"  quoth  Lanky;  it's  a  mortal  shame  to  treat  a 
wounded  man  worse  than  you  would  a  dog.  Dumbit!  I 
don't  care  if  Sergt.  Borem  does  cuss  me  for  it.  A  man 
don't  lose  anything  by  a  little  kindness."  Which  certainly 
was  true  in  Huddle's  case;  for  his  pocket  was  heavier  by 
an  additional  "fip"  which  Andy  had  ventured  to  give  him. 

The  sentinel  that  relieved  Lanky  did  not  seem  a  fav 
orable  subject  for  Andy's  wiles.  Nevertheless  he  ventured 
an  approach.  But  the  horseman  girded  at  him  with  such 
a  vicious  snort  and  snapping  curse  to  his  curt  denial,  that 
the  attempt  was  not  repeated.  He  was  relieved  at  ten 
o'clock  by  lighthorseman  Lanky,  who  with  a  dolorous  vis 
age  and  nasal  curse  announced  that  the  troop  had  been 
ordered  out  for  duty,  and  he  had  to  stand  guard  all  night. 
When  his  comrade  had  retired,  however,  he  seemed  quite 


440  THE   LATIMEKS. 

resigned  to  the  situation,  and  the  prisoners  thanked  the 
good  Providence  that  had  thus  interposed  in  their  behalf. 

"More  chunks  to  the  fire,  Mr.  Huddle!"  said  Andy. 
"It's  blind  man's  holiday  here,  an'  we  're  a-shiverin'  agin 
with  the  cold,  bad  cess  to  that  dunderheaded  haw-buck  of 
a  cast-iron  image  that  has  jist  gone  out.  Dod!  What 
could  ye  axpict  of  sich  a  country-jake?  He  lacks  the  stately 
manner  and  soldierly  polish  of  some  one — well,  of  some  one 
A'  darsn't  name.  The  feckless  donnert  fool!  It's  well  seen 
why  they  put  yoursilf  in  charge  of  sich  important  State 
prisoners.  Ay,  ay;  they  know  a  thing  or  two,  A'll  be  bound. 
An'  here,  sir,"  sinking  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  and  feigning 
to  hide  the  act  from  Luke,  "is  another  levy  to  celebrate 
your  return.'*' 

The  prisoners  were  now  quite  at  liberty  to  enjoy  the 
fire,  and  make  themselves  as  comfortable  as  possible.  The 
sentinel  meanwhile  watched  at  the  cellar  door  on  the  floor 
above,  returning  now  and  then  to  warm  himself,  and  solace 
his  loneliness  with  a  bit  of  gossip.  Luke's  spirits  revived 
so  much  that  his  indignation  against  Lieut.  Meneter  began 
to  find  utterance.  He  wouldn't  stand  such  an  outrage  upon 
his  person  and  liberties!  He  would  set  the  law  in  play 
against  him!  He  would  make  him  feel  his  horsewhip! 

Andy  was  well  pleased  at  these  signs  that  Luke  was 
coming  to  himself,  but  wished  to  soothe  his  friend's  grow 
ing  excitement.  "Tut,  Luke  man,  let  the  fellow  alone! 
What  '11  you  gain  by  tryin'  for  to  git  satisfaction  out  of  sich 
as  he?  Ye  may  lather  him  or  law  him,  it  '11  be  all  one  in 
the  ind.  Whichiver  way  ye  go,  ye  '11  come  out  of  the  same 
hole  ye  went  in  at.  Mind  the  old  sayin',  sue  a  beggar  an' 
catch  a  louse!  Let  the  beggar  go,  siz  I.  He's  not  aven 
worth  cussin',  let  alone  kickin'  or  quarrelin'  with.  Ye  '11 
git  little  better  nor  a  smell  by  meddlin'  with  a  skunk. 
Besides,  there's  those  ahint  an'  above  him  as  desarve  the 
rale  blame,  an'  they  're  too  high  up  for  aither  of  us  to  raich. 
One  thing  at  a  time!  Let's  get  out  of  this  infarnal  place, 
where  they  've  penned  us  up  like  pigs,  an'  git  you  wanct  on 
your  feet  agin.  Then  mebbe  we'll  try  a  wrastle  an'  a  tassle 
with  Meneter,  and  mayhap  some  of  the  bigger  folk." 

"True,  true,  Andy!"  sighed  Luke,  relapsing  again  into 
his  melancholy.  "I'm  a  broken  reed,  an'  it  ill  becomes  me 
to  be  thinkin'  of  vangance.  I'd  beeta  turn  my  thoughts  to 
another  warld  nor  this.  An'  what  for  should  I  complain, 


THE   LATIMERS.  441 

Andy?  Haven't  I  brought  it  all  on  myself;  an'  what's 
warse  dragged  you,  my  faithful  friend,  intil  the  meshes 
with  myself?  God  have  marcy  on  me!  Andy,  I  crave  your 
pardon  for  gittin'  you  intil  this  last  trouble.  Ye'll  bear 
me  no  ill  will,  I  hope,  an7  maybe  have  a  kindly  thought  for 
me  wanct  in  a  while,  when  Fm  gone.  Ay,  I've  made  a  sad 
wrack  of  it,  I  misdoubt;  a  wretched  boggle  and  mux  have 
I  made  of  my  life.  May  the  God  above  forgive  me!" 

"Luke,  Luke,  my  old  f  ri'nd,  niver  spake  that  way  agin !" 
said  Andy  with  choking  voice.  "The  idee  o'  astin'  my  par 
don  for  havin'  been  mixed  up  with  that  whuskey  risin'! 
It's  me  that  had  better  be  cravin'  forgiveness.  A'  agged 
you  on,  an'  niver  helt  you  back,  an'  was  so  brash  for  ivery 
new  fad,  an'  sich  a  laggard  to  let  well  enough  alone.  Sure, 
A'm  no  spring  chicken  in  years,  an'  no  nose  of  dough  in 
charackter,  that  I  nades  be  turned  this  way  an'  that  at 
anny  man's  bid  an'  call,  pinch  an'  pull.  But  let  bygones 
be  bygones.  We  '11  mak'  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain,  A' 
warrant,  an'  have  manny  a  jolly  day  togither  on  river  and 
forest.  Hearten  up,  man!  Niver  say  die!  The  darkest 
hour  is  jist  afore  the  dawn;  an'  there  niver  was  a  night  so 
long  that  dayspring  didn't  follow.  That  plaguey  arm  of 
your'n  has  nigh  worritted  the  life  out'n  ye.  But  jist  spunk 
up  a  bit  an'  all  will  be  well." 

Andy's  voice  was  broken  at  times  as  he  spoke,  and  more 
than  once  he  had  to  brush  away  the  tears  from  his  eyes. 
Luke  made  no  reply,  but  looked  at  his  friend  with  a  sad 
smile,  and  then  crouched  over  the  smouldering  coals  on 
the  muddy  cellar  floor,  and  relapsed  into  silence.  So  he 
remained  until  Lanky  came  down  the  rude  cellar  stairs,  and 
with  a  mysterious  air  placed  in  Andy's  hands  two  objects. 
One  was  a  note  for  Luke  which  Andy  read  with  the  aid  of 
a  pine  splint: 

"Keep  a  good  heart.  Help  is  near.  I  have  ~been  foiled 
thus  far,  but  to-morrow  I  hope  to  get  your  release" 

JOHN. 

"Do  you  mind  that  now,  Luke?"  Andy  broke  forth 
jubilantly.  "What  was  I  a-tellin'  you?  It's  jist  an  echo 
from  the  guardian  angels,  is  that  bit  of  paper!  Ay;  A' 
knowed  we  could  trust  John  Latimer  not  to  go  back  on  us. 
Cheer  up,  old  fri'nd!  An'  here's  somethin'  more  the  lad 
has  sant  ye,  that  '11  mebbe  do  ye  more  good  nor  his  bit 
paper."  He  gave  Luke  a  small  flask  of  Monongahela  whis- 


442  THE   LATIMEKS. 

key.  "There's  somethin'  to  tak'  the  chill  out  of  your  boones, 
an'  the  donsieness  out  of  your  heart.  Was  there  iver  anny- 
thing  more  timely?  Yet,  some  folk  don't  belave  in  a  spee- 
cial  Providence!  Dod!  The  dunderheads  aren't  all  dead.' 

Luke,  much  cheered  by  the  incoming  of  the  loving 
message  with  its  breath  of  hope,  and  refreshed  by  the 
draught  of  liquor,  showed  signs  of  sleep.  Andy  sat  down 
on  the  plank  beside  him,  and  propping  his  back  against 
the  wall,  gently  drew  the  nodding  invalid  against  his  broad 
breast.  Soon  Luke  dropped  his  head  upon  Andy's  shoulder 
and  slept.  Then  Andy  put  the  other  hand  gently  around 
his  waist  beneath  the  wounded  arm,  and  held  him  there 
securely  until  he  was  sound  asleep.  At  last,  wearied  with 
the  day's  excitement  and  toils,  he  gradually  dropped  his 
chin  against  Luke's  forehead,  and  after  divers  catnaps  and 
jerky  awakenings,  yielded  to  weary  Nature's  kind  compul 
sion,  and  he  too  slept. 

When  Amos  Huddle  next  came  down,  he  stood  for  a 
few  moments  and  silently  looked  upon  the  two  friends 
propped  in  the  cellar  corner,  whose  faces,  dimly  lit  up  by 
the  flickerings  of  the  low-burnt  fire,  showed  ghastly 
through  their  grime,  and  even  in  sleep  carried  traces  of 
suffering  and  care.  He  was  touched  by  the  sight,  and 
turned  and  tiptoed  over  the  muddy  floor,  and  up  the  slab 
steps  to  his  post. 

"Dumbit!"  he  ejaculated,  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  "I 
never  reckoned  we  'listed  for  that  sort  of  thing!  If  I'd 
'a  knowed  it,  I  vum —  However,  he  did  not  commit  him 
self  further.  Being  happily  freed  for  a  long  while  from 
fear  of  obtruding  officer  of  the  guard,  he  sat  down  upon  the 
upper  step,  and  leaning  against  the  door  jamb  slept  as 
soundly  as  if  he  had  been  a  veteran. 

He  was  aroused  in  the  early  morning  by  the  clatter 
of  horses'  hoofs  on  the  road  outside  the  tavern.  Andy, 
too,  was  startled  by  the  noise,  and  Luke  awoke  with  teeth 
chattering,  and  limbs  shaking  with  a  violent  chill.  The 
fire  had  gone  out.  The  temperature  had  fallen  so  low  that 
the  cellar  mud  was  stiff  with  the  frost. 

Mr.  Huddle  swiftly  assumed  a  pretense  of  military 
vigilance,  and  with  an  air  of  vigor,  and  sounding  clink  of 
his  cutlass,  as  though  drowsiness  had  never  dared  to  visit 
his  eyelids,  cried  a  loud  challenge: 

"All  right,  Lanky!"  replied  Sergt.   Borem.     "We've 


THE   LATIMERS.      -  443 

been  out  hunting,  and  bagged  a  famous  collection  to  add 
to  your  show.  It'll  beat  Peale's  Philadelphy  Museum  all 
hollow.  Stand  aside,  man,  and  let  the  animals  come  in/' 

Now  the  mournful  procession  of  prisoners  began  to 
descend  the  cellar  stairs.  They  had  been  dragged  out  of 
their  beds  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  forced  away, 
only  partly  dressed,  amid  the  screams  of  terror-stricken 
children  and  the  cries  and  tears  of  agonized  wives  and 
mothers.  Some  were  hatless,  some  coatless,  some  shoeless, 
and  their  feet  covered  with  the  cold  clay  of  the  muddy 
roads  over  which  they  had  been  driven  before  the  horses 
at  a  trot.  The  troopers  bayed  at  them  as  they  filed  by 
towards  the  wretched  den  into  which  they  were  to  be 
impounded. 

"Hope  you'll  enjoy  your  hangin'!"  cried  one. 

"Here!  I'll  give  you  a  dollar  a  shot  for  the  chance  of 
poppin'  at  you!"  called  another. 

"A  pretty  lot  of  jailbirds!"  exclaimed  a  third. 

"Like  to  get  out  of  jail,  would  you?"  sneeringly  asked 
a  fourth.  "So  you  will,  when  hangin'  day  comes!' 

Amidst  a  volley  of  oaths,  nicknames,  vulgar  insults  and 
irritating  epithets,  the  weary,  galled,  shivering  and  heavy- 
hearted  captives  filed  into  their  temporary  prison,  until 
forty  had  been  told  off  by  Lieut.  Meneter. 

Now  Gen.  Bloodson,  who  had  directed  the  whole,  ap 
peared  upon  the  scene.  "Tie  the  rascals  back  to  back!" 
he  ordered,  with  an  oath.  "Let  the  guard  have  a  fire,  but 
keep  the  prisoners  in  the  opposite  end  of  the  cellar." 

One  of  the  officers  ventured  a  remonstrance.  "But 
General,  they  are  cold  and  wet.  They  ought  to  have  a  fire 
till  they  get  dry,  at  least." 

"Fire!  They'll  get  fire  enough  after  they're  hanged!" 
was  the  response.  "Not  a  coal,  not  a  spark,  at  your  peril!" 

One  of  the  sufferers  called  for  water. 

"Not  a  drop!  Not  a  mite  of  fire,  or  drop  of  drink  or 
crumb  of  bread  shall  you  have,  if  you  were  dying  for  it. 
There  has  been  enough  dandling  and  coddling  of  insur 
gents.  You  have  got  at  last  into  a  man's  hands  that  will 
give  you  a  taste  of  genuine  treason-bitters.  You've  made 
your  own  bed,  and  you've  got  to  lie  in  it.  Shiver  and 
freeze,  and  be — "  he  ended  the  sentence  with  an  oath. 

The  excitement  of  these  arrivals  for  a  while  aroused 
Luke  Latimer  from  his  torpor.  He  had  tasted  the  cruelty 


444  THE   LATIMEKS. 

of  Gen.  Bloodson,  and  had  reason  to  know  what  the  others 
might  expect,  yet  his  indignation  burned  hotter  that  the 
fever,  as  one  after  another  the  prisoners  entered  the  cellar. 
Most  of  them  he  knew,  and  what  puzzled  him  was,  that 
few  of  them  had  taken  any  part  in  the  insurrection  move 
ment.  Only  two  or  three  of  those  who  had  been  on  his 
list  were  among  the  victims;  and  they  were  men  who,  con 
scious  of  their  innocence,  had  disregarded  the  warning 
given  them,  thinking  arrest  impossible.  A  few  had  been 
present  at  the  raising  of  liberty  poles,  nothing  more. 
Some  had  been  at  Braddock's  Field  as  spectators. 
Most  of  them  had  signed  the  amnesty.  Several  had  been 
taken  in  mistake  for  others.  Only  one  man  had  taken 
any  active  part  in  the  tumults,  and  he,  more  guilty  than  all 
the  others,  was  the  only  person  to  receive  from  the  com 
mander  any  mitigation  of  his  barbarous  orders. 

The  mystery  was  afterwards  explained.  The  three  lists 
of  exempts,  of  witnesses  and  of  the  proscribed,  had  been 
drawn  and  distributed  with  such  carelessness  and  indiffer 
ence,  that  the  several  names  became  mixed.  Being  handed 
thus  to  the  subordinate  officers  who  conducted  the  arrests, 
the  innocent  and  guilty  were  seized  together,  and  treated 
with  like  indignity. 

What  occurred  in  the  Mingo  Creek  district,  happened 
throughout  Washington  and  Allegheny  Counties,  although 
the  treatment  of  the  prisoners  was  usually  less  aggravated. 
Squads  of  cavalry  were  scattered  throughout  these  sec 
tions,  and  in  the  dead  of  the  night  hundreds  of  families 
were  roused  from  sleep  by  the  trampling  of  horses  before 
the  cabin  door,  and  heads  or  members  of  the  household 
were  routed  from  sleep  and  borne  into  captivity.  Even 
where  insults  and  threats  of  personal  violence  were  not 
used,  the  agony  of  the  households  thus  disturbed  and 
robbed  of  loved  members,  may  better  be  imagined  than 
described.  The  district  thus  invaded  became  a  Bochim. 
The  land  was  filled  with  the  wailing  of  women  and  children. 
So  vivid  was  the  recollection  of  the  terror  and  sorrow  of 
the  time,  that  the  night  of  November  12th-13th  was  long 
known  among  the  people  as  "THE  DKEADFUL  NIGHT." 

During  Thursday  and  Thursday  night,  the  victims  of 
the  Mingo  Creek  dragonnade  were  kept  in  their  den,  under 
guard.  Some  modification  of  Gen.  Bloodson's  order  was 
compelled  by  the  demands  of  his  soldiers  themselves. 


THE   LATIMERS.  445 

Some  food  and  drink  was  allowed,  but  the  rigor  of  the 
orders  was  little  relaxed.  Yet,  all  of  these  persons  were 
subsequently  dismissed  as  innocent  men!  Only  three  were 
sent  'to  Philadelphia  for  trial;  and  against  these  nothing 
was  proved,  and  they  were  discharged. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE  RELEASE  OF  LUKE  LATIMER. 

How  fared  John  Latimer  all  this  time?  Every  attempt 
made  to  secure  his  father's  release,  or  get  abatement  of  his 
inhuman  treatment  had  failed.  Dandruff  had  slunk  home 
in  the  early  morning,  fingering  the  price  of  his  nefarious 
service,  despised  and  jeered  even  by  the  troopers  who  em 
ployed  him.  He,  therefore,  was  out  of  John's  way. 

Lieut.  Meneter  recognized  him  as  the  scout  from 
Wayne's  Army  whom  President  Washington  had  received 
at  Carlisle,  and  knowing  nothing  more  about  him,  treated 
him  with  respect,  and  presented  him  to  Gen.  Bloodson. 
John  vainly  tried  to  soften  that  officer's  heart;  and  suc 
ceeded  no  better  in  an  effort  to  inspire  fear  of  the  con 
sequences  by  showing  that  Luke  was  now  under  the  pro 
tection  of  the  United  States  Court. 

Thence  John  rode  to  the  camp  of  Col.  Campbell  at  the 
mouth  of  Mingo  Creek,  and  was  referred  to  Gen.  Mat 
thews,  who  in  turn  referred  him  to  Gen.  Lee,  whose  head 
quarters  were  further  up  the  river.  The  Commander-in- 
chief  declined  to  act,  and  advised  John  to  go  to  Judge 
Peters.  The  day  was  now  nearly  done,  and  hastening 
back  to  Parkinson's  Ferry,  John  managed,  through  the 
tavern-keeper  Stockdale  and  the  sentinel  Amos  Huddle, 
to  smuggle  in  the  note,  and  the  little  flask  of  spirits  which 
he  knew  his  father  must  so  much  need.  Stopping  no 
further  than  to  bait  his  horse,  he  set  out  for  Pittsburg  in 
the  dusk  of  the  evening. 

The  next  morning  when  John  told  his  story  to  Judge 
Peters,  that  functionary  flushed  with  anger.  "That  is  high 
contempt  of  my  court!"  he  exclaimed.  "A  direct  defiance 
of  the  United  States  authority.  I  will  see  about  this!" 

He  sat  down,  and  rapidly  wrote  an  order  to  Gen.  Blood- 


446  THE   LATIMEKS. 

son  to  at  once  release  Luke  Latimer  now  under  custody  of 
his  court.  He  added  a  sharp  rebuke,  and  signed  and  sealed 
the  document,  which  he  was  about  to  hand  to  John.  He 
hesitated;  glanced  over  his  letter,  shook  his  head  doubt 
fully,  then  arose.  "Come  with  me,"  he  said.  "We  had  bet 
ter  consult  Secretary  Hamilton  before  we  proceed  further." 

The  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  was  surrounded  by  clerks 
and  officers,  and  in  the  ante-room  of  his  office  a  motley 
crowd  of  suppliants  waited.  It  was  easily  seen  that  who 
ever  was  commander-in-chief  of  the  troops  or  head  of  the 
judiciary,  Hamilton  was  the  power  behind  the  throne.  He 
at  once  recognized  John. 

"Ah,"  said  he  in  a  friendly  tone.  "My  stalwart  hero 
of  Fallen  Timbers!  How  is  the  captive  maid,  your  sister?" 

John  answered  briefly,  for  Judge  Peters  at  once  entered 
upon  his  story.  The  Secretary  glanced  at  him  from  time 
to  time,  and  the  friendly  glint  in  his  eyes  (at  least  so  John 
thought,  who  keenly  watched  every  motion)  seemed  grad 
ually  frosted  over. 

"Umph!  So  you  are  Luke  Latimer's  son?"  he  asked, 
glancing  coldly  at  John,  who  bowed  assent.  "Well,  I  am 
sorry!  But — no!  Filial  fidelity  is  a  virtue,  and  a  somewhat 
rare  one  among  American  youth.  It  would  be  scant  charity 
(addressing  Judge  Peters)  to  visit  the  sins  of  the  fathers 
upon  the  children.  You  are  quite  right,  Judge.  This 
unauthorized  imprisonment  of  Latimer  is  in  contempt  of 
your  court.  And  I  may  add,  of  the  Executive  of  the  Gov 
ernment,  whom  I  have  the  honor  to  represent."  There 
upon  he  wrote  a  line  to  Judge  Peters'  document,  signed  his 
name,  affixed  his  seal,  and  gave  the  paper  to  John. 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Secretary,  with  all  my  heart.  And 
you,  your  Honor,  for  this  act.  May  Heaven  bless  you  both 
for  the  relief  you  have  opened  up  to  a  wronged  and  suffer 
ing  man  and  to  a  bitterly  afflicted  child!"  John's  voice 
trembled  with  emotion,  as  he  spoke.  Tears  gathered  in 
his  eyes.  He  ended  the  sentence  almost  with  a  sob,  and 
hastily  withdrew. 

Marion,  rested  and  refreshed  by  good  grooming  and 
hearty  baiting,  stood  ready  hitched  outside  the  Judge's 
door.  John  leaped  into  the  saddle,  and  set  forth  on  his 
holy  errand.  On,  Marion,  on!  Never  did  horse  have 
greater  need  to  serve  his  master  well.  Eide,  John,  ride! 
Never  did  messenger  have  greater  need  of  haste.  The  road 


THE   LATIMEBS.  447 

was  wet  and  broken  by  much  traffic;  but  the  settlers  averred 
that  it  had  never  been  traversed  so  quickly  as  on  that  morn 
ing  when  Marion  carried  John  Latimer  from  Pittsburg  to 
Parkinson's  Ferry. 

Flinging  the  bridle  to  the  hostler  at  Stockdale's  Tavern, 
and  charging  him  to  care  for  the  horse  as  though  he  were 
a  brother,  John  at  once  presented  himself  and  his  docu 
ment  to  Gen.  Bloodson.  That  officer's  brow  was  knitted 
with  anger  and  chagrin  as  he  read.  He  gazed  fiercely  upon 
the  young  man,  then  flung  the  paper  down  on  his  table. 

"Ho,  guard!"  he  cried;  "show  this  fellow  to  the  crazy 
man's  room  and  be  hanged  to  him!" 

The  vague  horror  which  lurked  within  that  coarse 
speech  made  John  frantic.  He  leaped  forward  and  seizing 
the  officer's  throat  tightened  his  grip  until  the  face  grew 
black,  and  the  man  gurgled  forth  broken  cries  for  mercy. 
John  relaxed  his  grasp,  but  keeping  his  hold  thundered 
forth:  "What  have  you  done,  you  accursed  bully?  Tell 
me  what  you  mean!  Speak  up,  or  by  Heaven,  I'll  crush 
the  life  out  of  your  cowardly  carcass." 

"Calm  yourself,  sir,"  the  General  exclaimed,  when  he 
could  find  his  voice.  "I  have  done  nothing,  I  assure  you, 
to  merit  such  treatment.  Your  father  grew  worse.  He 
lost  his  head  a  little,  I  was  told.  That  was  all;  and  I  had 
him  removed  to  a  room  in  the  tavern." 

John's  hand  dropped  to  his  side.  He  turned  upon  the 
guard,  who  happened  to  be  our  lighthorseman  Lanky,  and 
cried:  "Show  me  to  father's  room  at  once!" 

Bloodson,  released  from  that  anaconda  grip  and  now 
breathing  freely  and  at  a  safe  distance,  recovered  his 
spirits.  "Seize  him!"  he  cried  in  a  sudden  flush  of  morti 
fication  and  wrath.  "Cut  him  down!  What  do  you  mean, 
you  image  of  dough,  by  standing  there  like  a  dummy, 
while  your  commander  is  assaulted?  Eun  him  through!" 
Thereupon  he  drew  his  own  sword. 

"Dumbit !"  quoth  Lanky.  "I,  I,— I  don't  see  how— I'm" 
—  And  he  fumbled  with  the  hilt  of  his  cavalry  sabre. 

John  wheeled  about,  released  his  hatchet  from  his  belt 
and  shaking  it  in  his  hand,  advanced  a  step.  He  spoke  no 
word,  but — his  eyes!  Gen.  Bloodson  never  forgot  the 
sudden  flame  that  burned  therefrom.  Men  had  seen  the 
like,  ere  this,  in  John  Latimer,  in  moments  of  highest 
passion,  when  the  berserker  rage  had  seized  him.  And 


448  THE    LATIMERS. 

never  yet  had  man  been  found  who  did  not  cower  before 
it.  Bloodson  paused  a  moment,  then  sheathed  his  sword. 
He  sat  down  at  his  table,  and  waved  his  hand  to  the  guard, 
as  if  to  say  "Take  him  away!"  and  bent  over  some  official 
papers,  feigning  to  be  busy  with  them. 

"Come,  sir!"  said  Huddle.  John,  trembling  under  the 
reaction  from  his  outbreak  of  wrath,  followed  his  guide. 
In  an  upper  room  of  the  tavern  he  found  Luke  lying  upon 
a  bed.  Andy  Burbeck  kneeled  beside  him.  The  landlord 
stood  at  the  footboard.  A  trooper  sat  in  the  opposite 
corner  on  guard.  The  light  shone  through  a  little  window 
full  upon  the  sick  man's  face. 

Was  this  his  father?  Could  a  day  and  night  of  suffering 
have  wrought  such  a  change?  The  hair,  before  only 
sparsely  tinged  with  threads  of  gray,  showed  broad  streaks 
of  white  around  brow  and  temples.  The  eyes  were  deeply 
sunken;  the  cheeks  fallen  in;  the  nose  thin  and  white;  the 
skin  pallid  as  with  the  touch  of  death. 

"0  my  father!"  cried  John.  "Has  it  come  to  this?" 
He  flung  himself  down  on  his  knees  at  Andy's  side,  and 
took  the  hand  that  hung  over  the  bedside,  cold  and  wasted 
and  soiled  with  the  stains  of  the  vile  pen  whence  Luke  had 
been  borne.  He  kissed  it,  and  the  hot  tears  dropped  upon 
fingers,  as  he  cried  again,  "0  my  father,  my  father!" 

"Hoosh,  lad!"  said  Andy,  in  a  soothing  tone.  "He's 
jist  fallen  asleep.  Hoosh!  it  'ud  be  ill  to  disturb  him  now, 
seein'  what  he  has  gone  through." 

Andy's  warning  came  too  late.  Luke  opened  his  eyes, 
and  for  a  moment  looked  steadily  at  John.  A  smile  such 
as  John  had  never  seen  thereon,  spread  over  the  wan  face 
until  it  seemed  illumined  with  some  rare  light. 

"My  boy,  I  knew — you  would — come!"  The  fingers 
closed  lovingly  upon  John's,  and  the  young  man  then 
learned  how  much  of  human  feeling  can  be  uttered  in  the 
mute  language  of  hand  pressure. 

"Ay,  father,  I  have  come;  and  brought  from  the  court 
and  Secretary  Hamilton  an  order  for  your  release.  We 
can  go  home  as  soon  as  your  are  ready;  and  there  we  will 
soon  have  you  all  right  again." 

"Ahbut — it's  all  right  now,  lad!  I've  got — my  rel'ase 
— I  misdoubt, — from  a  Higher  Coort."  Then  the  eyes 
closed  wearily,  but  the  same  sweet  setting  of  contentment 
rested  on  the  features. 


THE    LATIMERS.  449 

"He'll  go  to  sleep  now,  A'm  a-thinkin',"  said  Andy; 
"an'  that'll  do  him  a  power  o'  good."  The  sick  man 
gently  nodded  assent.  For  several  moments  the  watchers 
kneeled  in  silence,  the  deep  hush  of  the  room  only  dis 
turbed  by  the  restless  movements  of  lighthorseman  Lanky, 
whose  undisciplined  nature  could  ill  brook  such  scenes. 
The  silence  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  a  bugle  in  the  street 
beneath  the  window. 

"We  must  be  off,  now!"  said  the  guard,  in  a  husky 
voice  which  he  meant  for  a  whisper.  "There's  the  call  to 
saddle.  The  troop  moves  soon  to  escort  the  prisoners  to 
Washington.  And — I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Burbeck, — but  it's 
orders,  and  must  be  obeyed, — I've  got  to  take  you  with 
me.  I'd  like  you  to  stay  with  your  friend,  'specially  as  he 
is  so  low,  but — " 

"An'  stay  A'  wull,  orders  or  no  orders!"  said  Andy, 
rising  from  his  knees,  and  speaking  also  in  a  deep  whisper. 
"A'd  rather  die  maself  nor  1'ave  this  poor  unfort'nate  man. 
Nobody  but  an  iron-hearted  tyrant  would  aven  think  of 
siparatin'  us!" 

Now  John  also  arose,  and  leaving  the  bedside  laid  his 
hand  gently  upon  Andy's  shoulders.  "You  must  keep 
quiet,  Andy,  my  dear  old  friend.  God  knows  it'll  be  hard 
on  all  of  us  to  have  you  go  just  now.  But  any  row  over  the 
matter  would  be  dreadfully  exciting  to  father,  and  might 
hurt  him  beyond  help.  Go  quietly;  it  is  best  so.  Submit 
now  for  your  friend's  sake,  if  not  for  your  own." 

Andy  could  not  resist  such  an  appeal.  "You  are  right, 
John,  it's  the  only  way.  But — if — "  Here  he  broke  down 
completely,  and  the  tears  streamed  over  his  face,  while  his 
chest  heaved  with  sobs. 

The  hush  that  had  again  fallen  was  startled  by  the 
sharp  crack  of  Lanky's  knuckles.  He  went  over  all  the 
joints  of  his  left  hand,  pulling  them  till  they  snapped;  then, 
carried  away  by  his  emotions,  he  reversed  hands  and 
cracked  the  joints  of  the  right  hand  fingers. 

"Dumbit,  Mr.  Burbeck!"  He  also  dropped  into  a  hoarse 
whisper,  in  the  odd  notion  (which  most  people  have)  that 
a  whisper  is  the  proper  and  soothing  thing  in  a  sick  room, 
instead  of  an  irritation  to  the  patient.  "I  vum!  It's  too 
bad!  But  jest  you  go  off  quietly,  an'  trust  to  me  and 
King-george  there,  to  make  it  all  right.  King-george 
Kelsey,  he's  my  friend;  we  was  bro'  up  on  a'jinein'  farms. 
29 


450  THE   LATIMEKS. 

You'll  be  under  our  keer  durin'  the  march,  I  reckon;  an' 
ef  there's  any  way  to  git  you  off,  dumbit!  we'll  do  it,  won't 
we  King-george?" 

"We  will!'  said  that  royally-named  individual,  nodding 
his  head  emphatically. 

Andy  turned  toward  the  bed.  Luke's  eyes  were  wide 
open.  He  had  heard  it  all,  then!  The  great-hearted  fel 
low  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  took  the  sick  man's  hand  in 
both  his  own. 

"Oh  Luke!"  he  said;  "A've  got  to  lave  you.  The  Philis 
tines  be  upon  us,  an'  A'm  shorn  of  ma  strength.  Good  bye, 
Luke  dear,  an'  God  bless  an'  heal  ye!" 

"It's  a  true  fri'nd  ye  've  been  to  me,  Andy,  since  we 
were  boys  thegither,"  said  Luke.  "A  true-hearted  fri'nd 
an'  trusty  comrade,  my  right  hand's  marrows.  Good  bye! 
Mind  the  lad  a  bit,  Andy!  He  '11  be  none  the  warse  for 
that,  nor  yourself,  mayhap.  But,  don't — desave  your 
self—" 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  another  bugle  call 
sounded  outside.  The  notes  won  Luke's  attention,  and 
seemed  to  associate  themselves  with  the  winding  horn  that 
boatmen  were  wont  to  blow  upon  the  river  Ohio.  His  eyes 
moved  restlessly  from  John's  face  to  Andy's,  and  Back 
again,  with  an  unsettled  glance  that  showed  a  wandering 
mind.  Then  he  continued: 

"We're  high  up — on  the  bar — at  last!  The  waters  are 
run  clear  out.  Put  up  the  horn,  lad;  ye'll  have  no  nade 
of  windin'  it,  I  misdoubt.  We'll  jist  wade  ashore.  Ay, 
we'll  go  over  dry  shod!  There's  a  green  bank,  an'  cool 
shade  yonder.  An' — ye'll  no  forgit — "  a  faint  smile  with 
just  a  tinge  of  humor  played  around  the  lips, — "to  bring 
the  fiddle,  Andy.  We'll  foregather  a  bit  on  the  green,  an' 
— we'll  sing  the  twenty-third  psalm,  Andy;  an' — an'  ye 
shall  have  Eouse's  Varsion,  if  ye  like." 

The  cracking  of  Lanky's  knuckles  dropped  upon  the 
silence,  and  an  audible  sniffle  escaped  from  King-george. 
Then  Andy's  voice  was  heard,  low  and  solemn,  and  quiver 
ing  with  emotion:  "Let  us  pray!" 

"Almighty  God,  we  cry  unto  Thee  for  help.  Have 
marcy,  0  Lord!  Thou  didst  remember  David  in  all  his 
afflictions;  remember  Luke  Latimer  in  his'n.  0  Lord,  in 
this  day  of  sore  calamity,  when  all  Thy  waves  and  billows 
have  gone  over  him,  attend  until  our  cry.  For  he  is 


THE    LATIMERS.  45] 

brought  very  low.  Bring  up  his  soul  out  of  the  prison,  that 
we  may  praise  Thy  name.  Oh  Thou,  who  art  the  Holy 
One  of  Israel,  who  leadest  Thy  people  like  a  flock,  do  Thou 
shepherd  thy  sarvant  with  a  gentle  hand.  Do  Thou  walk 
with  him  in  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow,  and  go  down  with 
him  intil  the  waves  of  Jordan.  An'  0  Lord  God,  to  whom 
vangeance  belongeth,  0  God,  to  whom  vangeance  be- 
longeth,  show  Thyself!  Lift  up  Thyself,  Thou  Judge  of 
the  'arth;  render  a  reward  to  the  proud — 

"Hoosh,  Andy!"  said  he  sick  man,  breaking  in  with  a 
voice  soft  but  clear.  "Not  that,  not  that,  pPase!  'Father 
forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do!'  Do  ye 
mind  that?" 

Andy's  closed  eyes  opened  with  a  slight  start,  and 
caught  Luke's  upturned  gaze.  Then  he  went  on  with  his 
prayer,  but  in  a  trembling  voice,  and  in  a  tone  quite 
emptied  of  the  old  Covenanter  sternness  which  it  had 
insensibly  gathered. 

"Have  marcy  upon  us,  0  Lord,  an'  accordin'  to  Thy 
tender  marcy  blot  out  our  transgressions.  An'  bring  us 
intil  Thy  peace,  at  last;  where  the  sun  shall  not  smite  by 
day,  nor  the  moon  by  night;  whose  inhabitants  shall  no 
more  say,  I  am  weary;  where  there  shall  be  no  more  part 
ing,  nayther  shall  there  be  anny  more  pain,  for  the  former 
things  are  passed  away.  We  crave  it  in  the  name  of  Jesus 
Christ,  our  Lord  and  Eedeemer.  Amen." 

"Amen,"  echoed  Luke. 

Andy  was  gone,  and  John  remained  alone  with  the 
dying  man,  who  soon  dropped  off  into  a  quiet  sleep.  It 
seemed  an  hour  to  the  young  man,  as  he  sat  there  watch 
ing  the  tranquil  face  and  the  slowly  heaving  breast.  In 
truth,  it  was  but  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  When  Luke  woke, 
he  looked  around  him. 

"We  are  alone?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  father." 

"Would  you — mind — kissing  me,  lad?" 

John  bent  his  tall  form  and  kissed  the  pallid  lips.  But 
the  incident  quite  broke  him  up.  He  sobbed,  and  kneeling 
by  the  bedside,  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  wept.  His 
boyhood  days  seemed  to  come  before  him.  His  father  and 
he  had  not  kissed  one  another  since  then.  Yet  what  num 
berless  kindnesses  had  filled  that  interval!  Now  Luke's 
hand  gently  and  tremblingly  felt  along  John's  cheek  till  at 
last  it  rested  on  the  bowed  head. 


452  THE   LATIMERS. 

"Bless  you,  my  son!"  he  said,  and  added  the  old  patri 
archal  benediction:  "May  the  Angel  that  hath  redeemed 
me  from  all  evil  bless  the  lad!  You  have  never  given  me 
a  moment's  anxiety  or  pain  in  all  your  life,"  he  continued, 
after  a  brief  pause.  "You  have  been  a  good  son,  an7  God 
knows  I  have  tried  to  be  a  good  father." 

"You  have,  you  have!"  John  exclaimed.  "Never  had 
son  a  father  and  friend  such  as  you  have  been." 

"'Tis  sweet  til  hear  ye  say  it,  John.  But — but  the  end 
has  come  at  long  last.  I  know  that  well — hoosh!  don't 
interrup'  me.  I've  knowed  it  this  while  back,  an'  have 
made  all  preparation  for  it.  Ye'll  find  the  estate  in  good 
condition.  I've  left  it  til  your  mother  an'  Meg'  an'  you, 
share  an'  share  alike.  There'll  le  enough  for  ye  all,  pl'ase 
God,  if — the  Gover'ment —  But  it  may  never  come  til 
that!  Annyhow,  I  1'ave  you  in  charge,  an'  you'll  care  for 
mother  an'  Meg,  my  boy,  will  ye  not?" 

"As  God  spares  me,  I  wilt,  father!" 

"Ay!  They'll  nade  comfortin',  I  doubt.  An'  Meg- 
poor  child! — I'd  like  for  to  see  her — a  little  furder  settled. 
But  it's  the  Lord's  wull.  It  seems  hard,  I  don't  deny; 
lut  it's  all  right.  The  Lord  has  been  far  better  to  me  nor 
I  desarved.  I  die  content,  for  I  know  mother  and  Meg 
are  safe  with  you — an'  with  the  Friend  of  the  widow  an' 
fatherless.  Good  bye  now,  John!  The  fever  may  come 
up  agin  an'  mebbe — there,  you  must  be  calm!  Good  bye, 
and  take  my  lovin'  farVells  to  my  beloved  Polly  an'  to 
darlin'  Meg.  Ah,  if  I  could  see  them  wanct  more!" 

He  soon  fell  into  a  doze,  and  slept  longer  than  before. 
He  awakened  with  a  sudden  start,  and  raised  himself  upon 
his  well  arm. 

"Ye  beeta  go  out  to  meet  her,  John!"  he  said. 

"Yes,  yes,  father!"  John  caressed  his  hand  sooth 
ingly,  thinking  that  his  mind  wandered. 

"Ay,  but  I'm  not  a-ramblin',  my  lad,"  said  Luke,  not 
ing  John's  thought.  "She's  comin',  for  sartin." 

"Who  is  coming,  father?"  John  asked,  still  bent  on 
humoring  a  fevered  imagination. 

"Your  mother,  lad.  She's  jist  passed  the  Mingo  Creek 
Meetin'-house.  There!  She  takes  the  little  trail  along 
the  creekside.  It's  shorter,  mebbe.  She's  passin'  the 
Falls  now.  But  that's  a  bit  quare,— she's  ridin'  Ladybird! 
I  wouldn't  'a  thought  she  could  'a  done  it." 


THE   LATIMEKS.  453 

John  put  his  arm  around  him  to  support  him,  and 
Luke  leaned  against  his  breast,  and  gazed  steadfastly  to 
ward  the  window.  A  sudden  change  passed  over  his  coun 
tenance,  with  a  following  shadow  as  of  disappointment. 
Still  gazing  with  that  fixed  look,  as  of  one  peering  into  the 
distance,  he  exclaimed:  "Ah!  it's  not  my  Polly  after  all — 
it's  Meg!  God  bless  the  lass.  She'll  be  here  soon  at  that 
rate.  Put  me  down,  John.  Let  me  down,  I  say,  and  go 
you  forth  to  meet  her." 

Wishing  to  soothe  the  fevered  mind,  John  gave  feigned 
assent  to  the  fancy,  and  settling  his  father  upon  the  pil 
lows,  went  out,  leaving  the  door  ajar.  He  crossed  the 
hallway  to  a  window  that  looked  upon  the  road,  and  yet 
commanded  a  view  of  the  sick  chamber.  The  troopers 
had  gone.  He  could  see,  far  down  the  river  road,  the  rear 
of  the  column  as  it  slowly  moved  out  of  sight.  A  slight 
commotion  among  the  last  files  attracted  his  attention.. 
Horses  and  men  suddenly  jostled  one  another  to  the  edge 
of  the  highway.  A  horseman  seemed  to  dart  out  of  the 
column  and  return  at  full  speed. 

"It's  a  runaway!"  thought  John,  and  waited  the  ap 
proaching  object  eagerly.  "What!  I  seem  to  know  that 
horse.  Gracious  heavens!  Can  it  be?"  He  flung  up  the 
window,  and  leaned  over  the  sill,  and  gazed  intently  toward 
the  swiftly  advancing  rider.  "It  is — it  is  Ladybird!  And 
that  is  sister  Meg!" 

He  closed  the  window,  recrossed  the  hall  and  pushed 
open  the  sick  man's  door.  His  father  was  leaning  up 
against  the  pillows,  and  must  have  noticed  the  awe-struck 
look  upon  John's  face,  for  he  smiled  and  said: 

"Ay,  lad,  I  telled  ye  so;  but  ye  doubted.  There's 
nought  strange  in  it;  it's  the  second  sight,  lad,  the  second 
sight.  But  go  ye  right  down;  I'll  do  well  enough  to  ye 
come  back.  The  poor  lass  '11  need  someone  to  meet  her." 
In  a  few  moments  John  returned  with  Meg.  He  had  cau 
tioned  her  to  control  her  feelings,  and  indeed  her  life's 
training  would  have  guaranteed  that.  Yet  she  could  not 
forbear  putting  her  arms  around  her  father's  neck,  as  he 
lay  there  propped  among  the  pillows.  She  kissed  him  again 
and  again.  She  stroked  back  the  strangelv  whitened  hair, 
and  spoke  words  of  love  that  fell  most  soothingly  upon  the 
sick  man's  ears  and  were  better  than  a  cordial  to  his  heart. 

"An'  your  mother?"  he  asked. 


454  THE   LATIMEKS. 

"Mother  is  well,  but  much  anxious.  She  would  have 
come,  but  she  gave  Snowball  to  old-man-with-no-horse 
to  ride  to  Pittsburg  with  the  soldiers.  Then  she  tried 
Ladybird.  But  Ladybird  no  have  that.  Then  Meg  have 
to  come,  at  last.  Mother  wait  to  fix  house  for  father  when 
we  bring  him  home." 

"Who  told—?" 

"I  sent  a  message  from  Pittsburg,"  said  John,  "when  I 
went  there  to  get  your  release." 

"Ay,  ay.  It's  all  plain  now,  an'  it's  all  right."  His 
eyes  glanced  at  John,  and  then  at  Meg,  and  then  from  the 
one  to  the  other  again.  He  was  pleased  and  satisfied. 

A  woman's  hand  works  wonders  of  comfort  in  a  sick 
room,  for  which  few  men,  without  special  training,  have 
the  faculty.  A  bowl  of  hot  water,  and  towel  to  sponge  off 
face,  neck  and  hands;  the  smoothing  out  of  the  hair;  the 
.deft  touches  to  pillows  and  sheets,  and  other  little  offices, 
which  already  Meg  had  caught  from  her  mother  and 
Fanny,  made  a  great  change,  at  least  in  the  seeming  of 
comfort.  Then  she  looked  at  the  bandages  on  the 
wounded  arm,  and  eased  them  up  and  adjusted  them, 
promising  a  dressing  by  and  by. 

Luke  uttered  his  satisfaction  from  grateful  eyes.  It 
was  so  pleasant  to  have  his  daughter,  his  long  lost  Meg,  to 
minister  to  him.  Merciful  God!  he  had  ceased  to  hope  for 
that  boon,  and  now — his  daughter,  ay  his  own  daughter 
would  close  his  dying  eyes! 

"Thank  you,  my  child,"  he  said,  "Heaven  bless  you 
richly.  Ahbut,  I  don't  wonder  that  I  thought  it  was  your 
mother.  Her  livin'  image,  John!  But — I'm  sore,  sore 
tired.  I  can  sleep  now." 

The  afternoon  wore  on,  and  Luke  Latimer  slept.  The 
sun  went  down,  and  he  still  slept.  The  evening  advanced; 
eight,  nine  o'clock, — and  the  sick  man  was  sleeping  still. 

Early  in  the  afternoon,  Dr.  Cheeseman,  the  neighbor 
hood  physician  had  come  in.  He  was  a  tall  man  with 
a  kindly  face,  with  full  reddish  brown  beard  and  mous 
tache,  a  rare  fashion  among  professional  men  of  those 
times.  "Let  him  sleep,"  he  said,  "it  will  do  more  for  him 
than  I  can  do."  He  mixed  some  medicine  from  the  little 
vials  in  his  pocket  case,  and  promised  to  come  again  in  the 
evening.  And  now  he  called,  but  made  no  change;  yet 
his  grave  look,  and  tender  good-night  as  he  left  confirmed 
the  watchers'  fears. 


THE   LATIMERS.  455 

The  doctor's  presence  seemed  to  have  started  some  reac 
tion  in  the  sufferer's  nerves.  He  raised  his  hand  and 
reached  it  forth. 

"He  want  something,  maybe/'  said  Meg,  taking  her 
father's  hand  and  bending  her  ear  to  listen. 

"Polly,  love! — take  me — home — to  MOTHER." 

The  voice  ceased  and  the  slow  breathing  went  on. 

Ten  o'clock!  Sister  and  brother  watched  together  in 
the  little  room.  Meg  had  set  the  candle  on  the  floor  beyond 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  so  that  its  light  might  not  fall  on  her 
father's  eyes.  His  form  lay  in  the  shadow,  dimly  shown 
against  the  sheets.  Many  times  John  had  gone  back  and 
forth  uneasily  from  his  chair  to  the  bed,  and  looked  into 
the  gaunt  face,  and  bent  his  ear  to  the  chest  to  see  if  Luke 
breathed,  so  quietly  he  lay.  Now  he  leaned  over  and  lis 
tened. 

"Meg,  come  here!"  he  said.  "I  can  hear  no  sound  at 
all." 

Meg  ran  to  his  side,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  her  father's 
face.  "Oh,  John!  0  my  father!"  she  cried,  and  fell  upon 
her  knees,  and  hid  her  face  in  the  pillows,  and  wept  as  if 
the  fountains  of  her  heart  had  been  broken  up. 

John  drew  back  the  sheet  and  thrust  his  hand  upon  the 
breast.  The  heart  was  still. 

Luke  Latimer  had  got  his  release. 

The  young  man  kneeled  beside  the  weeping  maid,  and 
put  an  arm  about  her,  and  drew  her  gently  to  his  bosom. 
He  stooped  and  kissed  her  cheek.  He  bent  over  and  kissed 
the  cold  forehead  of  the  dead,  but  did  not  speak.  And  he 
did  not  weep.  The  pressure  and  strain  upon  him  that  had 
wrought  his  nerves  to  highest  tension,  had  kept  him  at  the 
tear  point  for  the  last  twenty-four  hours.  He  had  wept 
more  than  once.  Now  Nature  gave  no  tears.  But  he  lifted 
up  his  heart  to  God  in  Heaven  in  a  silent  prayer,  and 
sought  grace  and  strength  for  the  new  duties  that  must 
come  upon  him,  and  for  the  dangers  that  might  portend. 

So  they  kneeled  together,  there,  John  and  Meg,  till  the 
maiden's  grief  had  full  vent.  Then  they  arose,  and  rever 
ently,  and  as  fittingly  as  they  could,  composed  their  be 
loved  dead  for  his  long  last  sleep. 


456  THE   LATIMEKS. 


CHAPTEE  XLVIL 

GENERAL    BLOODSON's    MENAGERIE    AND    ANDY    BURBECK's 
TRAINED    HORSE. 

In  the  street  Andy  found  Eouse  his  horse  ready  to  re 
ceive  him.  The  landlord  had  kindly  taken  charge  of  the 
animal,  and  as  the  troopers  were  not  disposed  to  go  to  the 
length  of  horse  stealing,  the  owner  was  allowed  to  have  his 
own  mount.  The  intelligent  creature  was  as  glad  to  see 
its  master  as  Andy  was  to  find  him  at  his  disposal. 

Amos  Huddle,  as  in  duty  bound,  reported  to  Gen. 
Bloodson,  who  was  now  preparing  to  depart  at  the  head 
of  his  Jersey  Blues,  having  orders  to  conduct  his  "menag 
erie,"  as  with  grim  attempt  at  humor  he  called  his  pris 
oners,  to  Washingtor 

"How's  Latimer?"  he  asked  carelessly,  as  he  buckled  on 
his  sword. 

"I  reckon  he's  dyin',  sir,  I'm  sorry  to  say." 

"Sorry?  What  for?"  was  the  gruff  response.  "We'll 
be  saved  the  expense  of  hanging  him." 

Mr.  Lighthorseman  Lanky  was  exceedingly  rural  and 
democratic  in  his  ideas  of  military  rank  and  the  respect 
due  thereto,  as  has  already  been  seen.  Moreover,  his  feel 
ings  had  been  strongly  enlisted  in  Luke's  behalf.  It  was 
therefore  perhaps  natural,  if  vastly  unbecoming,  that  he 
should  crack  his  knuckles  under  his  commander's  nose, 
and  break  forth  with  rather  pronounced  emphasis: 

"I  vum!  Mr.  Bla-a — General,  I  mean!"  He  was  almost 
trapped  into  saying  "Blackbeard,"  a  piratical  soubriquet 
by  which  their  commander  was  known  among  his  troopers. 

"What,  sir?"  thundered  Bloodson,  wheeling  toward 
Amos,  and  dropping  the  tip  of  his  sword  sheath  with  a 
thumping  clang  to  the  fioor. 

"Nothing  sir!  I  wuz  only  wantin'  to  know  what  Fm 
to  do  now." 

"Eeturn  to  the  ranks!"  was  the  curt  reply. 

"Gosh!  I  nearly  made  another  mess  of  it!"  Thus 
Amos  greeted  his  friend  King-george,  when  he  got  to  his 
place.  "It  mought  'a  ben  the  wuss'  mess  I  ever  got  into, 
to  boot.  I  came  pesky  nigh  a-callin'  of  him  'Blackboard'  to 


THE   LATIMERS.  457 

his  face.  Dumbit!  that's  what  he  is,  a  reg'lar  pirate;  an'  I 
was  jest  on  the  pint  of  tellin'  him  so.  But,  jings!  I  bit 
it  off  quicker.  I  reckon  he'd  'a  cut  my  head  off  ef  I  'd 
'a  done  it,  wouldn't  he?" 

"No  doubt  of  it,  Lanky;  an'  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he'd 
do  it  yet,"  was  the  consolatory  response.  "I've  often  told 
you  children  shouldn't  meddle  with  aidge  tools.  You'd 
best  be  a  leetle  keerless,  young  man,  ef  you  don't  want  to 
be  a  cold  corpse." 

"I  ain't  hanker  in'  atter  that,  nohow,"  Amos  responded. 
"But  I  al'ays  did  make  a  mess  of  things.  Somehow  I  can't 
help  it.  Messin'  things  is  as  nachel  to  me  as  fallin'  off  a 
log.  But  w'at's  the  use  of  a  man,  even  if  he  be  a  General, 
makin'  a  nachel  brute  beast  of  hisself?"  With  which  bit 
of  moralizing  he  climbed  into  the  saddle,  and  awaited  the 
signal  to  start. 

"You're  purty  hard  on  the  beasts,  Lanky,"  quoth 
King-george,  as  he  tightened  his  saddle  girth.  "There, 
you're  all  right,  old  fellow!"  patting  his  horse'e  neck. 
"Now,  here's  my  nag,  who  never  had  no  schooling — in 
partic'lar;  and  no  soul  (to  speak  of);  bu-ut  ef  he  was  as  low- 
down  ornary  as — well,  some  folks  we  know  of,  I'd  shoot 
him,  I  would,  by  thunder!  Wouldn't  I,  Old  Fourth?" 
And  he  stroked  his  horse's  white  nose  caressingly. 

Mr.  Kelsey  had  been  named  and  christened,  as  he  had 
often  reason  to  explain,  in  the  ante-revolution  days  when 
loyalty  to  the  crown  was  quite  as  fervent  in  the  American 
Colonies  as  in  the  mother  country.  It  was  a  deal  of  annoy 
ance  to  him  at  times.  But  he  would  not  go  back  on  his 
baptism,  and  compromised  the  matter  and  neutralized  the 
effects  of  his  own  name  by  invariably  spelling  "George" 
with  a  little  "g,"  and  calling  his  horse  "Fourth  of  July." 
However,  he  commonly  docked  the  nag's  name  on  the  same 
principle  that  he  tied  up  its  tail  when  the  roads  were 
muddy, — to  save  work.  In  short,  notwithstanding  his 
royal  cognomen,  he  dearly  loved  his  ease,  and  shirked  hard 
labor,  and  was  ever  on  the  go  to  find  an  easier  berth. 

"Ah,  my  son,"  said  his  mother,  "a  rolling  stone  will 
gather  no  moss." 

"Ah,  my  mother,"  answered  Kelsey,  "the  dog  that  trots 
about  will  find  a  bone." 

So  when  volunteers  were  called  for  the  Western  Expe 
dition,  Kelsey  trotted  into  the  army  on  the  back  of  Old 


458  THE   LATIMEKS. 

Fourth.  He  had  fancied  that  an  easy  berth;  but  soon 
began  to  have  serious  doubt  thereof.  He  also  chose  the 
Cavalry,  as  an  easier  arm  than  the  Infantry;  but  had  been 
somewhat  shaken  in  that  belief  of  late.  Instead  of  having 
to  take  care  of  a  man  alone,  as  with  the  foot  soldier,  he 
was  obliged  to  look  after  both  man  and  horse.  At  all 
events,  he  found  a  most  congenial  comrade  in  Mr.  Amos 
Huddle,  whose  chief  recommendation,  though  he  pos 
sessed  many  other  amiable  qualities,  was  that  "he  didn't 
have  a  lazy  bone  in  his  body,"  as  his  patron  flatteringly 
averred.  He  was  therefore  willing  to  do  all  his  own  tasks, 
and  a  good  moiety  of  King-george's  as  well.  With  such  a 
strong  bond  uniting  the  two  men,  their  friendship  seemed 
likely  to  be  enduring. 

When  the  signal  to  march  was  given,  the  forlorn  caval 
cade  started.  Capt.  Cuttan  Swing  led  the  column  with 
Sergt.  Borem  and  a  file  of  troopers.  Then  followed  four 
prisoners;  and  so  on,  troopers  and  prisoners  alternating, 
until  Gen.  Bloodson  brought  up  the  rear  with  a  squad, 
among  whom  were  Amos  Huddle  and  King-george.  In  the 
group  of  prisoners  just  before  the  last  file,  rode  And}7 
Burbeck. 

Now,  it  fell  out  most  strangely  that  Gen.  Bloodson 
took  a  decided  fancy  to  Andy  Burbeck!  ..There  could  have 
been  no  telepathy  about  that,  one  would  think;  for  Andy's 
heart  was  rankling  with  hatred  toward  the  cruel  oppressor 
of  his  friend;  and  vengeance  would  hardly  have  been 
withheld  could  the  fatal  issue  have  been  fully  known  by 
him.  Bloodson  called  Andy  to  his  side,  and  began  to 
question  him  about  the  roads.  Thence  he  diverged  into 
the  civil  condition  of  the  Western  counties;  and  thence  to 
the  character  and  standing  of  his  prisoners.  So  he  passed 
to  the  material  prospects  of  the  West,  and  the  chances  for 
an  active  business  man,  with  a  little  capital,  to  get  along 
in  Pittsburg,  or  Kentucky,  or  the  Ohio  Territory. 

Andy  seeing  which  way  the  wind  blew,  resolved  to 
tako  advantage  of  the  situation.  In  a  general  way  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  escape;  but  the  method  of  escort 
adopted  seemed  to  quash  all  hope.  He  had  counted  it 
particularly  unlucky  that  he  was  placed  practically  under 
the  commander's  eye. 

"But,  who  knows?"  thought  he.  "Here  away  may  be 
the  openin'!  It's  a  long  lane  that  has  no  turnin',  an'  per- 


THE   LATIMERS.  459 

haps  we'll  strike  the  turn  afore  long;  an'  the  sooner  the 
better.  Fortune  has  frowned  pritty  stidy  on  me  lately. 
But  mabbe  she's  a-tippin'  me  a  wink  the  now,  an'  A'd  be 
a  true  gommerel  not  to  give  heed.  Sure,  a  wink's  as  good 
as  a  nod  til  a  blind  mare;  an'  A'm  nayther  one  nor  tother, 
as  ye'll  find  toe  your  cost,  my  brave  gineral,  if  God  pl'ase." 
Thus  soliloquizing,  he  set  to  work  to  interest  and  amuse 
Gen.  Bloodson.  As  he  had  especial  endowments  in  that 
line,  he  scored  a  brilliant  success. 

Lanky  looked  on  with  amazement,  as  he  listened  to  the 
General's  continuous  bursts  of  laughter.  His  slow  wits 
could  not  quite  apprehend  such  delicate  diplomacy  and  dis 
simulation.  More  than  once  his  muttered  "dumbit!" 
uttered  his  disapproval  of  such  hilarity  and  swift  forget- 
fulness  of  Andy's  sick  friend. 

"He's  a  shallow  chap!"  quoth  he  in  low  tones,  leaning 
over  to  King-george.  "I'd  never  'a  believed  he  had  so 
little  heart  in  that  matter." 

"Don't  you  bother,  now!"  returned  King-george. 
"He's  a  deep  un,  he  is!  He's  up  to  snuff,  sure  as  you're  a 
foot  high." 

"But  hear  old  Blackbeard  laugh!"  persisted  Amos. 
"And  the  prisoner  too.  That's  too  hearty  for  lettin'  on." 

Here  a  trooper^  came  from  the  front  to  report  that  one 
of  the  prisoners  had  fallen  in  a  fit.  "He  is  a  Revolutionary 
veteran,  who  fought  through  the  entire  war,  and  some 
thing  ought  to  be  done  for  him." 

"Tie  the  rascal  to  a  horse's  tail,  and  drag  him  along!" 
was  the  fierce  reply.  "He's  playin'  possum." 

"Dumbit!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Huddle,  most  emphatically. 
And  he  didn't  apologize  for  it;  nor  seek  to  modify  it;  but 
ran  the  round  of  his  knuckles,  crack,  crack! — and  spurred 
on  his  horse,  lest  he  might  speak  up  and  make  another 
mess  of  it. 

The  messenger  rode  back  to  his  file  in  towering  disgust: 
and  assisted  by  his  comrades,  put  the  unfortunate  veteran 
on  his  own  horse,  and  made  him  as  comfortable  as  possible. 
Indeed,  the  prisoners,  most  of  whom  had  to  walk,  were 
relieved  from  time  to  time  by  the  kind-hearted  soldiers, 
who  were  indignant  at  their  officers'  inhumanity. 

"Ah,  Giner7!,"  said  Andy  after  this  incident,  "a  great 
light  was  extinguished  in  the  profissional  warld  whan  you 
went  a-sodgerin'." 


460  THE   LATIMERS. 

"How's  that?"  asked  Bloodson, 

"Ye  quite  mistook  your  calling  that's  all.  It's  a  physi 
cian  an'  sargeon  ye  ought  til  'a  been.  Your  tratement  of 
fits,  now,  is  somethin'  antirely  original.  One  drag  at  a 
horse's  tail, — to  be  continued  ontil  the  patient  improves! 
There's  a  stroke  of  genius  for  ye!  Fancy  the  Royal  College 
of  Sargeons  in  Edinbro'  a-discussin'  of  that  prescription!" 

Gen.  Bloodson's  fancy  was  pleased  with  the  grotesque- 
ness  of  Andy's  idea;  but  although  he  did  not  feel  the  keen 
est  edge  of  its  satire,  he  was  not  wholly  insensible  to  it.  He 
therefore  justified  his  order  on  the  ground  that  old  soldiers, 
instead  of  being  worthy  of  greater  consideration,  were  more 
blameworthy  than  the  other  insurgents,  for  they  ought  to 
have  known  better. 

"So  they  ought !  True  for  ye  there,  Giner'l,"  quoth 
Andy.  "It  tuk  the  Britishers  siven  years  to  put  down  the 
insurraction  thim  same  old  sodgers  stirred  up,  an'  than  they 
didn't  do  it.  Ay,  the  old  sodgers  were  axperienced  rebels! 
'Deed,  they  had  ought  to  've  knowed  better.  What's 
this  man  arristed  for,  may  I  ask?" 

"What  is  it,  Ensign?7'  turning  toward  Meneter.  The 
Ensign  drew  forth  a  list  from  his  pocket  and  examined  it. 

"Present  at  the  raising  of  a  Liberty  pole,  sir." 

"Gracious  Heavens!  What  a  hardened  villain!"  ex 
claimed  Andy,  with  well-feigned  horror.  "I  don't  wander, 
sir,  that  you  called  him  a — something  rascal,  an'  let  down 
on  him  so  hard.  Watched  the  insargents  a-raisin'  a  Lib 
erty  pole!  It  'ud  puzzle  aven  a  Philadelphy  lawyer  for  til 
find  an  axcuse  or  definse  for  sich  a  crime.  Ah,  this  is  a 
wicked  warld,  Giner'l,  an'  a  vartuous  and  sansitive  gintle- 
man  like  yoursilf  must  feel  ill  at  aise  in  it.  An'  what's  my 
own  offanse,  Mr.  Ensign,  may  I  ask?" 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Andy  Burbeck!  Jist  plain  Andy,  'ithout  anny  jug 
handle  til  it,  nayther  ceevil  nor  military.  An'  an  honest 
name  it  is,  if  I  do  say  it  maself ."  The  Ensign  ran  over  the 
list,  and  reported  that  there  was  no  such  name  there. 

"What!  Andy  Burbeck  not  here,  you  say?  Sure  then, 
I  must  jist  be  a  ghost,  or  a  vacuum,  or  somethin'  of  that 
sort,  an'  maself  is  some'eres  else.  Your  Honor  surely  don't 
want  for  to  kape  company  with  a  sperit,  so  I'll  e'en  say 
good  mornin'  til  ye."  So  saying,  he  made  as  though  he 
would  ride  back  to  the  Ferry. 


THE   LATIMEES.  461 

"Hold  on  there!"  cried  the  General,  laying  a  hand  on 
Andy's  bridle.  "We  can't  bear  to  part  with  you  just  yet. 
We  shall  at  least  have  the  honor  of  your  presence  at 
luncheon."  Which  hint  Andy  felt  constrained  to  accept. 

The  troop  was  halted  to  bait  the  horses  on  the  planta 
tion  of  Dr.  McMillan,  nearby  his  house,  a  substantial  two- 
story  building  of  hewn  logs.  The  barn  and  sheds  gave 
convenient  shelter,  and  the  well  abundant  water.  Few  of 
the  prisoners  had  brought  food  with  them,  yet  these 
shared  their  rations  with  their  fellows.  The  good  clergy 
man  distributed  bread  and  meat,  and  although  Gen. 
Bloodson  disapproved  such  pampering  of  insurgents,  he 
happened  to  know  the  Doctor's  high  standing  with  the 
authorities,  and  did  not  interfere. 

In  the  interval  of  waiting,  the  General  suggested  that 
it  would  be  a  good  time  for  Andy  to  show  off  some  of  the 
wise  tricks  of  his  horse,  of  which  he  had  boasted  during 
the  morning  ride.  Andy  was  agreeable;  and  as  the  news 
spread  along  the  column,  a  ring  of  officers  and  men  gath 
ered  to  see  the  trained  horse  perform.  The  prisoners,  too, 
though  so  forlorn  and  dolorous,  were  glad  of  the  diversion. 

"By  ordinar',  gintlemin,"  Andy  began,  "A'  would  tak' 
off  saddle  an*  bridle.  For  ye  know  that  the  Scriptur' 
charges  us  not  to  muzzle  the  ox  that  treads  the  corn;  which 
is  a  good  rule  for  horses  and  men  as  well  as  oxen.  But 
time  is  money,  ye  know,  as  the  thafe  said  when  he  stole 
the  clock,  an'  so  gintlemin,  we'll  jist  tak'  Rouse  as  he  is. 
He's  like  cold  souse,  always  ready.  Besides,  as  our  Giner'l 
has  humorously  obsarved,  referrin'  to  the  number  of  his 
prisoners,  ye've  got  'forty  thaves'  in  tow,  with  maself 
thrown  in  for  good  measure.  So,  A'm  not  sure  A'  could 
safely  trust  saddle  and  bridle  off'n  the  horse's  back.  Now, 
Rouse,  ma  b'y,  make  your  manners,  sir!  Right  leg!" 

The  horse  bent  up  the  right  leg,  scraped  the  ground 
with  his  foot,  and  bowed  his  head  low. 

"Now  left !"    The  action  was  repeated  with  the  left  leg. 

"All  right!  The  same  to  yourself,  sir."  Andy  made  a 
formal  bow,  which  Rouse  recognized  by  dropping  upon  his 
haunches,  and  bending  his  head  towards  his  master  and 
then  recovering. 

"Now,  my  lad,"  said  Andy,  walking  up  to  the  horse 
and  laying  his  hand  on  his  neck.  "A'  want  ye  for  til  make 
your  manners  to  the  Gineral.  Can  you  pick  him  out  in 
all  this  crowd,  think  ye?"  Rouse  nodded  decidedly. 


462  THE   LATIMERS. 

"Ay,  better  not  be  overly  positeeve,  my  fri'nd.  The 
proof  of  the  puddin'  is  in  the  atein',  ye  know.  You're 
sure  you  can  pick  him  out?"  A  nod  from  Rouse. 

"Very  well,  then.  We'll  let  ye  try  it.  Now,  A'll  jist 
march  around  the  circle  with  you  an'  see  what  ye'll  do. 
There  are  several  distinguished  military  gintlemin  here, 
an'  your  credit  is  at  stake.  Look  sharp!" 

Rouse,  accompanied  by  his  master,  slowly  walked 
around  the  encircling  group,  seeming  to  scrutinize  all  the 
parties  carefully.  At  last  he  stopped  in  front  of  Gen. 
Bloodson,  and  amidst  the  applause  of  the  company, 
scraped  and  bowed  as  at  first. 

"Tut!  gintlemin,"  said  Andy,  turning  to  the  applaud 
ing  crowd,  and  removing  his  hat.  "There's  small  merit  in 
that.  A'  would  count  my  horse  lettle  better  nor  a  donkey 
if  he  couldn't  tell  the  stamp  of  jainius,  whan  he  sees  it  so 
plain  as  on  the  form  of  Giner'l  Bloodson,  the  Hero  of  the 
captures  of  Mingo  Creek.  Make  your  manners  til  him 
once  more,  Rouse!"  The  horse  bowed,  and  Andy  took 
him  back  to  the  centre  of  the  ring. 

"My  horse  is  a  patriotic  animal,  gintlemin,  A'd  have  you 
understand.  Some  of  you  military  folk  would  give  his 
master  an'  neighbors  small  credit  for  the  same.  But  A'm 
a-gawin'  to  prove  til  ye  that  there's  no  more  loyal  hearts 
in  the  Republic  nor  tham  in  the  Western  counties.  If 
riverince  and  love  for  the  name  of  Washington  is  the  tist, 
A'll  show  ye  that  aven  our  critters  are  patriotic. 

"Now,  Rouse,  attintion!  A'm  a-gawin'  for  til  tell  ye 
a  story.  Dr.  McMillan,  our  good  pastor,  wanct  visited  our 
village  school,  which  is  a  sort  of  parochial  affair,  ye  must 
know.  The  dominie  wanted  to  show  off  the  bairns  afore 
the  meenister,  an'  called  up  a  class  of  lads  to  say  their 
Screeptur'  quastions.  The  lads  toed  the  mark  on  the  floor, 
an'  put  their  hands  ahint  their  backs,  all  in  good  shape. 
Are  ye  listenin',  Rouse?"  The  horse  nodded  his  head. 

"Ay,  that's  a  dacent  critter!  A  car'less  hearer  pays  a 
poor  compliment  to  a  sp'aker.  As  A'  was  a-sayin',  the 
b'ys  bein'  quiet  an'  all  ready,  the  t'acher  began: 

"  'Who  was  the  first  man?'  he  asked. 

" 'Gineral  Washington!'  sings  out  the  lad  at  the  head 
of  the  class,  as  peart  as  a  parson. 

"  'Next!'  thundered  the  t'acher,  vexed  an'  mortified  at 
sich  an  answer,  right  afore  the  Doctor,  too. 


THE   LATIMERS.  463 

"'Adam  was  the  first  man!'  said  lad  number  two. 

"'Bight!'  siz  the  t'acher,  <go  up  head!' 

"'Shucks!7  siz  b'y  number  one,  as  he  stepped  down 
til  the  tail  of  the  class,  'I  didn't  know  ye  meant 
foreigners!'  What  do  you  think  of  that,  Bouse?" 

The  audience  showed  what  they  thought  of  it,  by 
hearty  laughter.  The  horse,  however,  was  a  little  slow  to 
catch  the  point  or  see  the  gist  of  the  story.  Andy  had  to 
repeat  the  question,  to  say  nothing  of  some  secret  signal 
that  passed,  ere  Bouse  opened  his  mouth,  and  drew  back 
his  lips  until  his  teeth  showed  in  a  broad  grin,  and  then 
threw  up  his  head  vigorously. 

"Well,  gintlemin,"  Andy  continued,  "the  lad  was 
right.  Giner'l  Washington  is  the  first  man  in  the  love  of 
true  Americans.  An'  barrin'  a  few  sich  fureigners  as 
Moses,  St.  Paul,  John  Knox  an'  William  of  Orange,  he  is 
the  greatest  man  that  God  Almighty  ever  made.  Now, 
Bouse,  three  cheers  for  Giner'l  Washington.  Up  with  ye!" 

Andy  took  off  his  hat  and  threw  up  his  arms,  at  which 
the  horse  reared  upon  his  hind  legs,  lifting  his  forefeer, 
well  in  the  air — once,  twice,  thrice.  At  the  third  time,  he 
shook  his  hoofs,  and  broke  forth  into  a  shrill  neigh  amid 
the  applause  of  the  onlookers. 

"Come,  gintlemin,"  said  Andy,  turning  toward  the 
troopers,  "A'm  surprised  at  ye!  Would  you  let  an  insar- 
gent's  horse  outdo  ye  in  patriotism?  Can  ye  hear  the  name 
of  the  warld's  greatest  citizen  saluted,  an'  not  jine  in  the 
same?  Hats  off  with  ye!  An'  three  cheers  for  Prisident 
Washington!"  The  cheers  were  given  with  vigor. 

"Come,  Bouse,"  said  Andy,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
horse's  neck.  Ere  the  echo  of  the  cheers  had  died  away 
among  the  hills,  he  had  Bouse  kneeling  on  his  forelegs 
before  Gen.  Bloodson.  Then  he  uncovered  his  head,  and 
bowing  low,  put  in  this  plea: 

"Sir,  the  people  whose  very  horses  can  thus  honor  the 
name  of  Prisident  Washington,  are  worthy  of  kindness  at 
your  hands.  We  beg  you  to  pity  these  prisoners,  do  Bouse 
and  I,  an'  show  them  all  the  favor  you  can." 

"Come!"  said  Bloodson.  "This  has  gone  too  far,  sir. 
But,  there!  I'll  do  it,  sir!"  Which  he  could  readily 
promise,  as  he  had  just  received  orders  to  turn  over  his 
prisoners  at  Canonsburg,  three  miles  distant,  instead  of 
conducting  them  on  to  Washington. 


464  THE  LATIMEES. 

"Now,  if  your  Honor  pl'ase,"  said  Andy,  "A've  jist  one 
more  trick  for  til  show  ye.  A've  t'ached  Rouse  to  be  shy 
of  all  strangers,  espeecially  to  save  him  from  the  wiles  of 
horse  thaves,  an'  A'll  show  ye  what  an  apt  scholar  he  is. 
But  it'll  require  a  lettle  more  room  nor  we  have  here,  an' 
A'll  jist  trouble  ye  to  open  up  the  rank  on  one  side,  an' 
give  me  a  clare  road.  Ah!  that'll  do  fine.  But  we  can't 
git  on  furder  onless  we  can  find  a  horse  thafe.  Would 
your  Honor — ah,  no !  it  would  be  highly  improper  to  ask  ye 
to  act  sich  a  part.  Axcuse  me!  Mebbe  there's  one  of  your 
men  that  '11  volunteer  for  til  play  the  part  of  horse  thafe. 
Thank  ye!  Here's  a  volunteer."  It  was  our  friend  Amos 
Huddle  who  came  forward,  amid  the  chaff  and  cheers  of 
his  comrades. 

Andy  whispered  or  feigned  to  whisper  in  Rouse's  ear, 
and  withdrew  to  one  side  of  the  road,  a  little  in  advance, 
however.  "A  silver  dollar  if  ye  sucsade  shall  be  your 
reward,"  he  remarked  to  Amos. 

Lanky  gently  approached,  held  out  his  hand,  and  spoke 
in  a  low,  wheedling  tone.  "Whoa,  there,  good  horsey!  Horsey? 
horsey?"  Rouse  snapped  viciously  at  him  with  his  teeth, 
and  drew  off  several  paces,  while  the  soldiers  laughed,  and 
cheered  on  their  comrade.  Again  Lanky  approached,  and 
this  time  Rouse  allowed  him  to  come  almost  within  reach. 
But  when  the  lighthorseman  made  a  spring  towards  the 
bridle,  he  leaped  away  with  so  sudden  a  bound  that  Lanky, 
grasping  empty  air,  stumbled  and  fell.  Rouse  trotted  up 
the  road  a  couple  of  rods  and  stopped. 

Andy  followed.  "A'll  make  it  two  dollars!"  he  cried, 
"if  ye  captur'  'im  now!" 

"Go  it,  Lanky!  Try  again!  You'll  be  a  horse  thief 
yet,  if  you  persevere!"  were  some  of  the  cries  which,  with 
much  laughter,  greeted  this  manoeuvre. 

Undiscouraged  thereby,  Amos  once  more  approached 
the  horse,  shuffling  daintily  forward,  and  speaking  in  the 
most  soothing  and  cajoling  tones,  and  with  the  whole 
Jersey  Shore  vocabulary  of  pet  names.  Rouse  had  appar 
ently  made  up  his  mind  either  to  be  caught,  or  that  his 
would-be  captor  was  not  worth  minding.  He  turned  his 
tail  upon  Lanky,  and  began  leisurely  to  pick  at  the  grass 
on  the  wayside. 

This  was  Lanky's  opportunity.  Stealthily  he  edged 
himself  nearer  and  nearer,  flattering  himself  that  he  was 


THE   LATIMERS.  465 

unseen;  on  the  strength  of  which  presumption,  he  also 
ceased  his  cajolery.  Just  as  he  was  preparing  to  spring 
upon  his  unconscious  victim,  Rouse's  hind  heels  went  up  in 
the  air,  and  the  unlucky  Lanky,  more  by  the  force  of  his 
own  sudden  recoil  than  by  the  hoof  impact,  however,  tum 
bled  backwards  in  the  road. 

Rouse  trotted  down  the  highway  towards  Parkinson's 
Ferry,  at  a  leisurely  pace,  followed  by  Andy,  who  loudly 
called  "Whoa,  Rouse,  whoa!  Back,  old  fellow;  come  back!" 

There  was  some  confusion  among  the  troopers  as  they 
ran  forward  to  the  fallen  man.  There  was  also  laughter, 
which  greatly  increased  when  Amos  Huddle  slowly  arose, 
and  with  a  chopfallen  air  began  to  dust  his  clothes,  and 
ejaculate:  "Dumbit!  I  kin  do  it  yit.  Lemme  try  agin!" 

Then  attention  A.  as  turned  towards  Andy  and  his  horse. 
Rouse  kept  ahead  of  his  master  until  the  foot  of  the  hill 
was  reached,  beyond  Dr.  McMillan's  mansion.  There 
Andy  came  neck-and-crop  with  him,  and  seized  him  by  the 
mane.  Rouse  jerked  himself  away.  Andy  followed  with 
an  impatient  gesture. 

"Ye  bullion!"  he  was  heard  to  say,  in  an  angry  tone. 
"A'll  give  ye  a  lambastir'  for  this!"  A  sounding  slap  upon 
the  horse's  flank  followed.  Then  Rouse's  heels  flew  into  the 
air,  and  Andy  was  een  to  roll  backward  upon  the  road, 
while  Rouse  galloped  up  the  hill. 

Several  of  the  troopers  were  already  in  the  saddle, 
King-george  among  them,  and  dashed  off  to  capture  the 
runaway  horse.  Gen.  Bloodson,  who  had  watched  the  per 
formance  eagerly,  saw  Andy  slowly  arise,  and  limp  away 
after  his  truant  Rouse,  lustily  shouting  "whoa,  whoa!" 
Then  the  galloping  troopers  intervened,  and  he  was  lost  to 
sight  for  the  moment. 

"Aha!  my  jolly  rebel!"  said  the  General.  "You  have 
overshot  the  mark  this  time,  if  you  never  did  before.  Your 
trained  horse  is  like  a  kicking  musket,  pretty  hard  in  the 
back  action  sometimes.  Ha,  ha!  But  we've  fooled  away 
enough  time  here.  The  horse-trainer  can  try  shanks-mare 
for  the  rest  of  the  journey.  Sound  to  saddle,  and  call  back 
those  fellows  who  have  gone  after  the  runaway." 

"Where's  the  prisoner?"  he  demanded,  as  the  horse 
men  returned. 

"The  prisoner?"  exclaimed  King-george.  "Why,  we 
thought  he  had  come  back!  We  seen  nothin'  of  him  sence 
30 


466        .  THE   LATIMEES. 

we  passed  him  down  on  the  road,  there,  by  the  corn  patch. 
He  was  limpin'  along  and  hollerin'  like  all  possessed/' 

"Back  with  you!"  cried  the  General,  into  whose  mind  a 
new  light  began  to  break.  "Sergt.  Borem,  take  a  squad 
and  hunt  down  that  treacherous  old  fox.  Beat  up  the  corn 
patch  on  the  north  side.  Scour  the  woods  on  the  south. 
Away!  We've  been  fooled,  like  a  lot  of  ninnies  as  we  are." 
These  orders  were  intermingled  with  fearful  oaths.  Not 
satisfied  with  sending  the  men  upon  the  search,  the  Gen 
eral  set  off  to  give  personal  direction.  The  corn  field  on 
the  left  of  the  road  was  standing  thick  with  dried  stalks, 
from  which  the  ears  had  been  husked  without  cutting  and 
shocking.  Beyond  this,  stood  an  old  cabin  in  which  Dr. 
McMillan  had  his  home  when  he  first  moved  into  the  West 
in  1778.  The  field  was  thoroughly  explored.  The  cabin 
was  ransacked  from  top  to  bottom.  Every  outhouse  and 
clump  of  brush  was  peered  into.  No  signs  of  Andy! 

The  party  who  searched  the  wood  fared  no  better.  The 
pursuit  had  to  be  abandoned.  Disappointed,  mortified, 
enraged  at  having  been  thus  befooled,  and  cursing  the 
luck  that  had  lost  him  the  chance  for  vengeance,  Gen. 
Bloodson  at  last  grudgingly  ordered  the  troop  to  form  as 
before,  and  advance.  His  surly  tones  and  threatening 
countenance  betrayed  the  bitter  spirit  within  him.  It  was 
fortunate  for  the  prisoners  that  the  end  of  their  journey 
was  so  near,  or  Andy's  escapade  would  have  been  the  occa 
sion  of  many  heavy  hurts  both  of  heart  and  body.  In 
Canonsburg  the  prisoners  were  transferred  to  the  care  of 
Capt.  Dunlap  of  the  Philadelphia  City  Troop.  They  were 
imprisoned  in  the  Canonsburg  Academy,  a  stone  building 
that  stood  midway  of  the  hill. 

What  had  become  of  Andy?  When  the  clamor  of  the 
search  had  ceased,  and  the  noise  of  the  departing  troops 
had  died  quite  away,  that  worthy  might  have  been  seen 
emerging  from  the  hollow  butt  of  a  huge  oak  tree  that 
stood  in  the  meadow  just  beyond  the  cornfield.  He  cau 
tiously  crept  forth;  crawled  along  the  edge  of  the  standing 
fodder  to  the  road,  and  having  assured  himself  that  the 
coast  was  clear,  ventured  to  indulge  in  a  hearty  laugh. 

"Well,  well!  What  a  lucky  thing  it  was  that  A'  Parnt 
in  my  boyhood  in  the  old  primer  book  that 

"The  royal  oak  it  was  the  tree 
That  saved  his  royal  majesty." 


THE    LATIMERS.  467 

"Ha,  ha!  Here's  Dr.  McMillan's  Weddin'  Oak  Tree, 
an'  here's  Andy  Burbeck  a-playin'  the  old  game  of  King 
Charlie!  Dod!  A'd  niver  'a  thought  of  it,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  the  primer.  Ha,  ha!  But — now — whert's  Rouse? 
That's  the  nex'  thing.  A'  tellt  him  to  go  home;  but  did  he 
do  it,  A'  wonder?"  He  rubbed  his  hands  back  and  forth 
through  his  shock  of  red  hair,  and  clapped  his  hips  in  sheer 
jollity.  Then  he  turned  his  thoughts  to  Luke  Latimer. 

That  sobered  him  at  once.  He  left  the  road,  lest  some 
trooper  might  have  tarried  to  look  out  for  him,  and,  by  a 
circuitous  route  came  to  Dr.  McMillan's  study.  Several 
young  men  stood  around  the  door  of  the  log  cabin  wherein 
the  Latin  school  had  been  kept  out  of  which  Jefferson  Col 
lege  finally  grew.  The  building  then  stood,  and  until  the 
spring  of  1895  continued  to  stand  in  the  back  yard  of  Dr. 
McMillan's  home.  The  Latin  school  had  already  been 
merged  into  the  Canonsburg  Academy;  but  a  few  students 
of  divinity  still  occupied  it  as  a  study,  taking  their  meals 
in  the  manse.  These  young  men  had  witnessed  the  stirring 
incidents  in  which  Andy  had  lately  figured;  and  being 
greatly  excited  by  the  rare  experience,  had  not  yet  been  able 
to  get  down  to  their  tasks.  They  lounged  about  the  school 
room  door,  canvassing  one  point  and  another,  this  with 
pity,  that  with  indignation,  and  the  next  with  amusement. 

Andy  knowing  the  sympathy  of  the  young  men  to  be 
with  their  fellow-countrymen,  although  they  were  not 
favorable  to  the  recent  riots,  presented  himself  to  them 
without  reserve.  He  got  such  information  as  he  required 
as  to  the  movements  of  the  troop,  and  in  turn  related  how 
he  had  escaped.  It  was  a  simple  enough  matter,  after 
all.  The  happy  thought  occurred  to  him  as  he  chanced 
to  note  the  wide  spreading  top  of  the  Doctor's  "Wedding 
Oak"  on  the  slope  of  the  hill.  This  was  a  venerable  tree 
under  which  the  good  pastor  had  once  united  a  worthy 
backwoods  couple  in  marriage  who  had  presented  them 
selves  at  the  ministerial  cabin  for  that  function,  on  an 
occasion  when  Mrs.  McMillan  was  too  ill  to  be  disturbed; 
for  the  cabin  had  but  one  room.  The  story  got  abroad, 
and  others  who  came  upon  a  like  errand,  were  pleased  to 
be  put  into  the  holy  bonds  of  matrimony  beneath  the 
"wedding  oak." 

Now  Andy,  who  knew  the  place  well,  knew  also  that 
the  tree  was  hollow,  and  would  hold  a  man  quite  cannily. 


468  THE   LATIMEKS. 

The  ruse  which  the  reader  knows  was  shaped  upon  this 
fact.  The  tumble  before  Rouse's  heels  was  a  bit  of  acting. 
Andy's  lameness  was  feigned.  His  eagerness  to  call  back 
the  escaping  horse  was  a  pretense.  Watching  his  opportu 
nity,  he  slipped  unobserved  through  the  open  rail  fence  into 
the  cornfield,  and  running,  quite  hidden  by  the  tall  stalks, 
along  the  meadow  fence,  he  crept  through  it  and  crawled 
over  the  ground  to  the  wedding  oak.  He  got  into  the 
great  knot  hole,  which  opened  on  the  side  opposite  the 
corn,  and  was  secure  in  the  hollow  trunk.  The  old  tree 
stands  there  yet,  as  the  reader  may  see;  and  if  he  will,  he 
may  stand  upright  within  the  cavernous  butt,  as  the 
author  has  done,  and  thus  prove  for  himself  the  truth  of 
this  story  of  Andy's  escape. 

The  young  men  being  satisfied,  thought  it  high  time 
to  bring  Andy  to  the  Doctor.  So  they  had  him  into  the 
study,  where  the  story  of  his  escape  must  be  told  anew. 
Staunch  friend  of  the  goverment  as  Dr.  McMillan  was,  he 
had  no  sympathy  with  the  cruelties  inflicted  on  his  parish 
ioners  and  fellow  citizens.  When  he  learned  how  Luke 
Latimer  and  Andy  had  been  served,  he  was  highly  wroth. 
His  ponderous  body  surged  with  mighty  and  just  resent 
ment,  and  he  forthwith  offered  to  equip  Andy  with  horse, 
saddle  and  bridle  to  go  away  to  Parkinson's  Ferry.  But  he 
advised  him  to  wait  until  dusk,  as  the  danger  of  capture 
would  thereby  be  lessened;  to  which  Andy  agreed. 

In  the  meantime,  he  mounted  his  own  nag  and  rode 
off  to  Canonsburg  to  look  after  the  prisoners'  comfort. 
He  also  undertook  to  see  Mrs.  Peggy  Burbeck,  and  inform 
her  of  her  husband's  escape  and  safety;  and  further,  which 
Andy  seemed  to  think  an  even  more  important  office,  to 
bid  her  look  out  for  Rouse,  who  would  be  sure  to  come 
home  to  his  stable.  In  truth,  when  he  arrived  the  Doctor 
found  Rouse  already  installed  in  his  own  quarters,  quietly 
munching  his  oats.  The  prisoners  were  comfortably 
housed,  and  under  the  care  of  a  humane  officer. 

The  story  of  Andy's  ruse  and  escape  had  got  out,  and 
citizens  were  telling  it  on  the  sly,  mightily  pleased  at  the 
discomfiture  of  the  hated  "Blackbeard"  and  his  Jersey 
Blues.  Mrs.  Peggy  had  heard  the  tale  with  due  amplifi 
cations,  and  not  doubting  her  good  lord's  ability  to  look 
out  for  himself,  put  on  her  sunbonnet  and  went  down  to 
comfort  her  friend,  Mrs.  Latimer. 


THE  LATIMERS.  469 

Next  morning  the  prisoners  were  conducted  to  Pitts- 
burg  under  escort  of  the  Philadelphia  City  Troop.  That 
organization  then  as  now  was  composed  of  some  of  the 
most  substantial  and  respectable  men  of  the  capital  city. 
Their  appearance,  as  interpreted  by  an  eye-witness,  left  a 
strong  impression  of  their  magnificence  upon  the  minds 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Washington  County. 

The  contrast  between  the  famous  troop  and  their  pris 
oners  was  striking.  The  latter  were  mounted  on  horses  of 
all  sizes  and  colors.  Some  were  large,  some  small;  some 
were  fat,  some  lean;  some  had  long  tails,  some  short;  some 
had  saddles,  some  blankets;  some  bridles,  some  halters; 
some  were  with  stirrups,  some  without.  The  riders  were 
as  various  and  grotesque  in  their  appearance  as  the  horses. 
Some  were  old,  some  young;  some  were  hale,  others  pale 
and  meagre.  Some  were  respectably,  others  shabbily 
dressed.  Some  had  great  coats,  others  had  blankets  on 
their  shoulders.  The  countenances  of  some  were  down 
cast  and  dejected;  those  of  others  stern,  indignant,  as  of 
men  who  knew  themselves  undeserving  such  treatment. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

MRS.  LATIMER  AT  LAST  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND. 

As  Andy  Burbeck  came  into  the  region  of  the  military 
camp,  he  proceeded  cautiously,  and  made  many  halts,  and 
often  turned  into  by-trails.  Thus  it  was  past  eleven  o'clock 
at  night  when  he  rode  up  to  the  Stockdale  Tavern.  He 
saw  the  light  burning  in  the  little  room  above  the  street, 
wherein  he  knew  that  Luke  Latimer  lay.  He  saw  shadows 
flitting  to  and  fro  across  the  wall,  showing  that  John  still 
kept  his  watch  of  love  and  duty.  He  wondered,  as  he 
looked  upward,  if  it  were  well  with  his  friend? 

The  window  was  raised.  A  head  was  thrust  out.  John 
Latimer  leaned  over  the  window  sill,  and  gazed  into  the 
starlit  sky. 

"John!"  Andy  called,  softly.     "John  Latimer!" 
John  started  from  his  reverie,  and  looked  downward. 
"It  is  I — Andy!    Tell  me  how  your  father  gets  on?" 
"It  is  all  over,  Andy.    He  left  us  an  hour  ago." 


470  THE   LATIME'RS. 

"What!    Do  you  mane  to  tell  me  he  is  dead?" 

"Yes,  he  is  dead!" 

A  wail  of  anguish  rose  upon  the  silent  night,  quickly 
subdued,  but  sobbing  on  low  and  plaintive.  Andy  leaned 
his  face  upon  the  horse's  neck,  and  wept  for  his  life-long 
friend.  The  words  of  Holy  Writ  with  which  he  was  so 
familiar,  and  in  which  he  was  wont  to  voice  his  prayers 
and  most  sacred  and  tender  emotions,  came  unconsciously 
to  his  lips.  He  broke  forth  in  the  lament  of  David  for 
Jonathan:  "I  am  distressed  for  thee,  my  brother.  Very 
pleasant  hast  thou  been  unto  me.  Thy  love  to  me  was 
wonderful,  passing  the  love  of  women." 

The  cry  of  the  Oriental  chieftain  over  the  slain  of  the 
field  of  Gilboa  reached  across  the  twenty-nine  centuries  of 
time,  and  through  the  unbroken  chain  of  human  grief,  and 
found  echo,  by  the  far  Monongahela,  in  the  heart  of  a  child 
of  another  race  and  civilization.  Thus,  in  all  ages,  friend 
ship,  whether  it  knits  together  the  souls  of  princes  or  peas 
ants,  approves  itself  to  serious  thought  as  the  finest,  strong 
est,  most  unselfish  passion  of  the  human  heart. 

Now  the  landlord  came  forth  from  the  tavern  door, 
and  bade  Andy  into  the  house.  With  his  own  hand  he 
led  the  horse  to  the  stable,  while  the  mourning  friend, 
bowed  under  the  burden  of  his  grief,  slowly  mounted  to 
the  room  where  Luke  Latimer  lay.  He  begged  the  privilege 
of  keeping  watch  with  him  that  night, — the  last  watch 
with  his  friend! — as  so  often  he  had  done  in  the  silent  for 
ests,  or  upon  the  banks  of  the  lonely  river.  But  John 
would  not  have  it  so.  The  office  was  his  by  sacred  right 
and  duty,  and  who  could  gainsay  that  claim?  So  Meg  and 
Andy  were  led  away  by  the  landlord  to  rooms  where  they 
might  sleep,  or  at  least  lie  down  to  rest;  and  John  took  up 
his  lonely  vigil  by  the  dead. 

With  the  dayspring  all  were  astir  and  considering  how 
the  motionless  form  might  be  taken  home  for  burial.  The 
few  wagons  in  the  countryside  were  in  the  service  of  the 
army.  The  rude  logging-sled  which  a  neighbor  offered, 
was  gratefully  accepted,  and  this  was  transformed  into  a 
unique  rustic  funeral  car.  From  the  woods  nearby  hemlock 
boughs  were  cut,  and  their  lithe  branches  interwoven,  like 
wattles  in  a  summer  booth,  until  a  flat  wicker  bed  was 
formed.  Then  armfuls  of  the  feathered  tips  were  gath 
ered,  and  woven  and  laid  upon  the  wattled  bed  until  a  soft 


THE   LATIMERS.  471 

green  mattress  was  made.  Thereon,  decently  composed 
and  wrapped  in  his  winding  sheet,  Luke  Latimer  set  forth 
upon  his  last  journey  home.  A  rude  vehicle  that,  with 
which  to  make  such  a  journey.  Yet  it  wras  not  unmeet,  as 
John  suggested,  that  he  who  had  slept  so  often  under  wood 
land  boughs  should  thus  be  laid,  in  his  last  long  sleep, 
upon  the  fragrant  evergreens  he  loved  so  well. 

Andy's  friends  had  required  him  to  keep  out  of  sight 
during  these  preparations.  But  when  the  time  came  to 
move,  he  took  his  place  beside  John  and  followed  the  prim 
itive  funeral  car,  which  a  neighbor  had  volunteered  to 
draw  with  his  two  horses.  What  cared  he  for  the  risk? 
Life  seemed  empty  to  him,  now  that  his  friend  was  dead. 
But  Gen.  Bloodson's  troop,  on  their  return  trip,  came  by  a 
more  public  road  than  the  one  chosen  for  the  funeral  train, 
and  Andy  reached  Canonsburg  unmolested. 

At  the  first  peep  of  dawn,  Meg  Latimer  had  left  for 
home  to  carry  to  her  mother  the  sad  news  of  her  widow 
hood,  and  the  morning  was  still  new  when  she  reached 
home. 

Dungy  noted  her  approach  and  waited  to  receive  her 
at  the  upping  block.  He  read  the  mournful  story  in  her 
face.  "Don7  tell  rne,  Miss  Meg,"  he  exclaimed,  "Oh,  don' 
tell  me  dat  Marse  Luke  is  done  gone!  0  my  Lawd!" 

The  faithful  servant  burst  into  tears,  and  went  away 
to  the  stable  leading  Ladybird,  crying  as  he  went,  and 
bowing  his  head  low,  while  he  uttered  his  grief  in  broken 
ejaculations.  "He  was  my  bes'  friend,  'ceptin'  only  de 
blessed  Lawd.  0  Father  in  Heben,  pity  ole  Black  Dungy! 
An'  pity  pore  Miss  Polly!  It'll  break  her  heart,  for  shore. 
An'  de  young  missus,  too!  0  de  misery  ob  it,  to  fine  her 
father  only  jist  to  lose  him!" 

Meanwhile,  before  Mrs.  Latimer  could  come  to  the  door, 
Meg  ran  in,  and  putting  her  strong  young  arms  around  her 
mother  drew  her  close  to  her  bosom. 

"0  mother!"  was  all  she  could  say.    It  was  enough. 

"He  is  dead,  he  is  dead!"  cried  Polly.  "I  know  it!  I 
knew  it  would  be  so.  0  Luke,  Luke,  my  husband,  would 
Godlhaddiedforthee!" 

She  sank  upon  the  floor,  half  kneeling,  half  crouching; 
and  Meg  still  holding  her  in  her  arms,  sat  beside  her,  and 
joined  in  the  mourning.  The  twro  women,  mother  and 
daughter,  sat  upon  the  cabin  floor,  swaying  to  and  fro, 


472  THE    LATIMERS. 

intermingling  tears  and  sobs  and  bitter  cries,  until  the 
first  outburst  of  grief  was  somewhat  assuaged. 

The  latch  string  was  lifted,  and  Featherfoot,  who  had 
heard  the  news  from  Dungy,  glided  into  the  room.  She 
seated  herself  near  her  newly  widowed  friend,  and  raised 
with  a  gentle,  softened  tone  a  wail  for  the  dead,  whose 
broken  English  could  not  break  the  poetic  beauty  of  its 
Indian  imagery. 

"The  Red  Axe  and  the  Panther!  Strong  as  the  oak 
was  one,  and  supple  as  the  hickory  the  other.  But  they 
have  fallen!  They  have  fallen,  and  the  vines  that  clung 
to  them  are  low  upon  the  ground.  They  were  wise.  They 
were  brave.  They  were  good.  But  they  are  gone!  Many 
moons  they  hunted  together  in  the  forest,  or  paddled  the 
canoe  upon  the  river,  or  followed  upon  the  warpath. 
They  were  two  men  with  one  heart.  Their  hearts 
are  one  still.  One  moon — two  moons — three  moons 
ago  they  were  here,  beautiful  in  their  strength  as  the 
mountain  pine.  Xow  they  have  gone  hence,  over  the  trail 
that  all  must  take  at  last,  into  the  hunting  forests  of  the 
Spirit  World.  The  wigwam  is  empty.  The  cabin  is  deso 
late.  The  lodge  of  the  Manitou  in  the  Happy  Hunting 
Ground  is  brighter  with  the  mighty  spirits  of  our  warriors. 
Woe,  woe  for  the  white  widow!  Woe,  for  Sunny  Hair! 
Woe  for  the  Young  Oak!  Woe,  woe,  woe  for  Featherfoot!'' 

The  village  soon  knew  what  had  happened,  and  the 
tidings  added  to  the  dread  that  overhung  the  community. 
Their  Academy  crowded  with  imprisoned  fellow  citizens; 
their  streets  full  of  troopers;  lighthorsemen  still  scouring 
the  country  for  other  captives;  Luke  Latimer  already  a 
victim  of  their  cruelty!  What  next?  Who  next?  Woe, 
woe,  to  the  inhabiters  of  the  land! 

Fanny  McCormack  was  in  the  store  when  the  word 
came.  Her  father  had  fled  the  country  when  the  army 
reached  the  Monongahela,  and  the  eldest  son  George,  who 
young  as  he  was  had  been  at  Bower  Hill  and  Braddock's 
Field,  went  with  him.  Fanny  then  took  her  father's  place, 
and  aided  by  her  younger  brothers  kept  the  business 
going.  Now  she  called  her  mother  to  take  charge,  and 
hastened  to  the  Latimers 

Her  very  presence  brought  soothing.  A  kiss;  a  word  of 
sympathy  trembling  with  intensity  of  feeling, — and  then 
she  quietly  took  charge  of  the  house.  She  led  Mrs.  Lati- 


THE   LATIMERS.  473 

mer  to  her  own  room,  and  left  her  there  alone  with  her 
sorrow.  She  sent  Featherfoot  upon  a  message,  thus  quiet 
ing  her  dismal  dirge.  She  took  Meg  into  the  little  kitchen, 
and  there,  with  arms  interlocked  around  each  others' 
waists,  the  two  maidens  stood  before  the  crackling  fire  in 
the  open  fireplace,  and  their  hearts  were  united  more 
closely  than  ever  in  the  embrace  of  friendship  and  the 
silent  passing  of  sympathy. 

Fanny  drew  forth  from  Meg  the  story  of  her  father's 
death,  knowing  that  in  telling  the  flood  gates  would  open 
up,  and  sorrow  get  relief  in  tears.  Then,  wishing  to  dull 
the  edge  of  grief  by  the  touch  of  loving  duty,  she  set  Meg 
to  prepare  for  the  coming  of  the  funeral  train.  Mrs.  Bur- 
beck,  who  had  now  arrived,  joined  in  this  service,  and 
undertook  to  receive  and  satisfy  the  neighbors,  who  would 
soon  begin  to  drop  in  to  offer  neighborly  aid  and  satisfy 
neighborly  curiosity.  Kot  a  matron  or  maid  in  the  whole 
countryside  but  would  have  been  willing  to  come,  and  have 
deemed  it  an  honor  to  be  asked  to  share  in  the  needful 
labors  which  death  and  burial  bring  to  the  living.  This 
done,  Fanny  went  to  Mrs.  Latimer  and  told  her  all  she 
knew,  and  thus  satisfied  that  yearning,  which  most  of  us 
have  felt,  to  learn  all  the  incidents  in  the  last  eventful 
hours  of  a  loved  friend's  life. 

At  last,  the  interval  of  waiting  ended.  "They  have 
come,  mother!"  said  Meg.  In  a  moment  more,  John's 
strong  arms  were  around  her,  and  her  face  rested  on  his 
bosom. 

"You  must  be  strong,  mother  dear,  and  bear  up  under 
the  blow.  Father's  last  thoughts  were  for  you.  His  last 
words  were  coupled  with  your  name.  It  is  the  will  of 
Heaven;  and  has  he  not  made  a  happy  change?" 

"Ay,  lad!  I  know  it  is  better  for  him.  It's  little  com 
fort  he  has  had  in  these  last  da}'s.  But  oh!  I'm  lamentin' 
my  own  loss.  Xiver  had  wife  a  truer,  kinder  husband. 
Oh,  the  emptiness  of  my  heart,  and  the  desolation  of  my 
home!  How  can  I  live  without  him?" 

"But  you  have  your  children,  mother." 

"I  have  my  child:  yes,  I  have  Meg.  0,  John — I  have 
lost  my  husband, — I  shall — lose  my  son.  You  have  been 
a  son  to  me  John — a  true  son — " 

"What,  can  you  mean,  mother?  How  can  you  lose  me? 
The  soldiers  may  take  me,  and  keep  me  away  for  a  little 


474  THE   LATIMEES. 

while;  but  Fm  certain  to  come  back  to  you.  Father's  last 
thoughts  were  of  you  and  Meg,  and  I  promised  at  his  dying 
bed  never  to  forsake  you,  but  to  care  for  you  as  long  as  you 
lived.  And  with  God's  help,  so  I  will,  mother  dear!"  He 
bent  his  face  and  kissed  her  tenderly;  but  his  soothing  only 
evoked  a  more  violent  outburst  of  tears  and  sobs. 

INOW  the  trampling  of  feet  was  heard  on  the  outer  steps. 
Through  the  chamber  door  Mrs.  Polly  saw,  as  she  raised 
her  head,  the  neighbors  slowly  bearing  up  the  path  a  silent 
form,  which  too  well  she  knew  must  be  her  Luke. 

"0,  to  come  back  home  this  way!    Let  me  go  to  him!" 

"Not  yet,  mother!"    John  held  her  firmly  in  his  arms. 

Fanny  McCormack  went  forth  to  meet  the  bearers,  one 
of  whom  entered  the  house  and  with  doffed  hat,  in  a  sub 
dued  voice,  asked:  "Where  shall  we  put  it?" 

"It?"  Heavens!  How  swiftly  man  notes  the  immeas 
urable  change  that  death  makes  in  us  all, — the  swift  trans 
formation  from  the  personal  to  impersonal  insensate  mat 
ter,  from  "I"  to  "It!"  But  love  does  not  so  quickly  note 
the  change,  nor  drop  from  speech  the  language  of  personal 
address. 

"Bring  him  in  here!"  cried  Mrs.  La  timer,  breaking 
away  from  John's  embrace,  and  running  forward  into  the 
living  room.  "Lay  him  down  on  his  own  bed,  poor  dear! 
Let  him  rest  there.  Yes,  he  shall  lie  nowhere  else.'  Luke 
Latimer  was  not  simply  a  voiceless  It  to  that  loving  spirit. 

The  measured  heavy  tread  of  men's  shodden  feet  beat 
upon  the  white  board  floor,  as  they  bore  the  body  in  and 
laid  it  where  the  widow  wished.  Then  the  bearers  went 
out,  and  Fanny  shut  the  door,  and  left  the  family  there 
a  little  while,  alone  with  their  dead. 

"Hist,  Andy!"  said  Mrs.  Burbeck,  beckoning  to  her 
husband  who  was  going  forth  with  the  bearers.  "Come 
hither!  I've  got  a  message  for  ye."  Her  manner  was  flur 
ried;  her  face  was  shadowed  with  grief  and  wet  with  tears. 

"Ah  Peggy,  dear,  ye  may  well  greet,"  said  Andy  with 
a  mellow  and  shaking  voice,  as  he  followed  his  wife  to  the 
kitchen.  "We've  lost  the  best  fri'nd  we  iver  had  or  shall 
have.  It's  a  sorry  loss  for  us  all."  As  the  little  woman 
stopped  he  put  his  arm  around  her  and  kissed  her. 

"Ay,  indade,  Andy!  But  it's  not  that,  the  now,  I'm 
a-thinkin'  of.  It's  yourself, .  darlin'.  For  I've  bad  news 
for  ye,  ay,  an'  sad  news  for  meself."  She  wiped  her  eyes 


THE   LATIMEBS.  475 

with  the  corner  of  her  apron.  "The  sodgers  have  come  for 
ye,  Andy,  bad  cess  til  'em  for  choosin'  a  time  like  this! 
Shame  a  haet  care  they  for  sickness  or  death,  or  feasts  or 
funerals.  Ay,  it's  bitter  botherment  we  've  wrought  among 
hands  with  our  axcise  doins'." 

"Hoosh,  Peggy  love!"  said  Andy.  "Not  a  worrd  of 
that,  jist  now  an'  here  above  all.  It's  bitter  usury  that  poor 
Luke  has  paid  for  his  part  therein,  an'  it's  ill  castin'  up 
reproach  til  the  dead.  But  where  are  the  sodgers,  lass?  A'll 
away  to  them  at  wanct,  an'  know  the  warst."  Peggy  opened 
the  door  that  led  into  the  porch,  and  Andy  passing  through 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  Capt.  Dunlap  of  the  City 
Troop.  A  file  of  soldiers  stood  outside  the  yard. 

"Your  sarvant,  sir,"  said  Andy.  "A7  hear  that  ye  're 
astin'  for  me?" 

"This  is  Andrew  Burbeck?"  asked  the  Captain. 

"Ay,  A'll  no  deny  it." 

"Well,  sir,  I  regret  to  intrude  upon  you  at  such  a  time. 
I  have  heard  of  your  warm  friendship  for  Mr.  Luke  Lati- 
mer  and  his  family,  and  would  gladly  spare  you  and  them 
if  I  dared  do  so.  But  my  orders  are  plain  and  positive,  and 
I  must  do  my  duty.  I  am  directed  to  arrest  yourself  and 
Capt.  *John  Latimer,  and  conduct  you  to  Pittsburg.  Part 
of  my  troop  has  already  gone  with  prisoners  and  the  rest 
await  my  coming.  I  must  ask  you  to  go  with  me." 

"Marciful  heavens,  sir!"  exclaimed  Andy.  "An'  do  you 
mane  to  say  that  you  would  take  John  Latimer  away  at  a 
time  like  this?  Would  ye  lave  the  widow  to  mourn  alone, 
an'  deny  the  son  the  satisfaction  of  followin'  his  father 
to  the  grave?  It's  a  fearsome  act!  A'  can't  think  ye  're 
in  'arnest,  sir.  A'  can  go  with  ye  maself,  hard  as  it  '11  be 
not  to  see  my  old  fri'nd  buried.  But — Captain  Jock?  Ach, 
mon,  it  'ud  fair  melt  a  heart  of  flint  to  think  o'  that;  an'  if 
all  A've  h'ard  of  you  be  true,  Captain  Dunlap,  it's  not  flint 
but  a  kind  human  heart  that  ye  carry  within  your  bosom." 

"Thank  you  for  saying  that,"  said  the  Captain,  a  flush 
of  gratification  suffusing  his  cheeks.  "I  have  tried  to 
show  to  the  unfortunates  committed  to  my  charge  all  the 
kindness  consistent  with  duty.  I  have  asked  to  see  you 
quietly  that  I  might  explain  how  it  is,  and  beg  you  to  help 
me  lighten  this  disagreeable  service  as  much  as  possible. 
I  have  resolved  to  take  the  risk  of  leaving  Capt.  Latimer 
here  until  after  his  father's  burial,  if  he  will  give  his  word 


"476  THE   LATIMERS. 

of  honor  to  report  to  the  court  at  Pittsburg  immediately 
thereafter.    Do  you  think  he  will  do  it?" 

"God  bless  ye,  sir,  for  your  noble  thoughtfulness.  A'm 
sure  Captain  Jock  will  accep'  your  ginerous  tarms  with 
gratitude.  A'll  away  at  wanct  an'  bring  him  here  to  ye." 

Mrs.  Peggy  called  John  from  his  mother's  room,  and 
Andy  gave  his  message  and  explained  the  situation.  John 
at  once  went  to  Capt.  Dunlap,  and  gave  his  parole,  and 
acknowledged  with  warm  emotion  the  humane  considera 
tion  which  had  prompted  the  kindly  arrangement.  If  he 
could  only  add  to  the  obligation,  and  stretch  his  authority 
a  little  further  to  allow  his  father's  old  friend  the  same 
privilege — 

"Ay,  sir!"  broke  in  Andy.  "It's  not  well  to  urge  on 
the  willin'  horse,  they  say,  but  an'  if  you  could  strain  a 
p'int  an'  do  me  that  favor,  A'  would  be  everlastin'ly  be- 
holdin'  til  ye.  Though  it's  not  likely  your  honor  '11  iver 
nade  the  sarvice  of  sich  as  Andy  Burbeck;  an'  it  'ud  be 
an  uncanny  word  to  say  that  A'd  do  the  like  by  you  if  you 
iver  had  like  occasion.  But  indade,  sir,"  Andy  persisted, 
encouraged  by  a  gleam  in  the  Captain's  eye  which  his  last 
remark  had  evoked,  "whativer  should  ye  be  takin'  two 
bites  out'n  a  cherry  for?  Jist  make  one  good  mouthful  of 
it,  an'  let  the  two  of  us  stay.  It's  a  good  turn  ye  have 
done  us,  an'  God  bless  ye  for  the  same!  But  disn't  one 
good  turn  desarve  another?" 

Andy's  plea  was  here  cut  short  by  the  appearance  of 
Dr.  John  McMillan,  who  had  hastened  like  a  good  pastor 
at  the  news  of  sorrow  to  bring  consolation.  He  joined 
his  request  with  that  of  John  and  Andy,  and  became  surety 
that  the  latter  would  be  as  true  to  his  word  as  the  former, 
and  report  in  Pittsburg  immediately  after  the  funeral. 
Thus  fortified  in  his  own  kindly  wishes,  Capt.  Dunlap  con 
sented,  and  withdrew  with  his  file  of  troopers. 

Now,  the  first  outbreak  of  grief  had  quieted,  and  the 
confusion  wrought  by  the  coming  of  the  funeral  cortege 
had  ceased.  Neighbors  left  the  house,  and  the  first  silent 
meal  was  spread  for  the  family.  How  the  master  was 
missed!  No  one  would  take  his  vacant  place  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  and  ere  the  meal  was  half  done  Mrs.  Polly 
fled  from  the  board  in  tears. 

John  went  forth  into  the  yard,  and  was  looking  after 
matters  around  the  house,  when  Meg  brought  a  message 


THE   LATIMERS.  477 

that  his  mother  wished  to  see  him  in  his  room.  At  once 
he  re-entered  the  house,  and  mounting  to  his  chamber, 
which  lay  just  under  the  roof,  he  found  Mrs.  Polly  seated 
before  his  reading  stand.  His  pocket  Bible  lay  open 
before  her,  and  beside  it  the  little  red  leather-covered  box, 
ornamented  with  brass-headed  nails,  in  which  he  knew 
his  mother  kept  sundry  articles  that  she  prized.  There 
she  sat,  her  head  erect,  her  face  flushed,  her  lips  set  firmly 
together,  the  deep  blue  of  her  eyes  with  that  glint  therein 
which  came  when  some  disagreeable  duty  or  troublesome 
task  lay  before  her,  and  to  which  she  had  urged  herself 
with  strong  will. 

The  flush  of  high  excitement  intermingled  upon  her 
face  with  that  mellowing  cast  which  sorrow  throws  over  the 
human  countenance,  and  so  illumined  it  that  John  thought 
he  had  never  seen  her  look  so  beautiful.  And  indeed  a 
handsome  matron  she  was.  But  he  could  not  understand 
this  swift  transition;  and  wondering  at  the  change  of 
mood,  stood  a  moment  in  silence  and  looked  at  his  mother. 

Mrs.  Polly  must  have  read  his  thoughts,  for  she  spoke 
up  at  once.  "Ay,  John,  Pm  not  surprised  that  you  should 
wonder  what  has  come  over  me  all  at  wanct.  Sit  you 
down,  my  boy!  I've  sommat  to  say  til  ye  'at  consarns  ye 
much,  an'  has  been  kep'  back  too  long.  Manny  an'  manny's 
the  time — but  oh!  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  the  doin'. 
Sit  down,  lad,  an'  listen.  Don't  spake,  plaze,  till  I've  said 
my  say.  There's  a  great  burden  on  my  mind  that  I  must 
git  rid  of  at  wanct.  It  has  tormented  me  day  an'  night  for 
a  score  of  years  or  more." 

"There's  jist  wan  saycret  (0  Lord  forgive  me),  only 
wan  that  iver  cast  a  shadow  betwixt  my  husband  an' 
myself.  I  niver  meant  that  he  should  die  'ithout  knowin' 
it.  I've  braced  myself  to  the  tellin'  a  hunder,  ay,  a  thou 
sand  times,  but  shrank  away  from  it,  for  I  could  niver 
abcar  the  thought  that  he  might  cast  me  off,  or  cease  to 
love  me,  or  that  his  poor  heart  would  be  sore  hurted  or 
broken.  Oh,  if  I  had  telled  him!  I  meant  to  do  it,  God 
knows,  afore  he  died,  and  now  he  is  gone.  He  cannot  hear 
me.  He  cannot  spake  til  me.  He  cannot  upbraid  me.  He 
cannot  forgive  me,  as  mayhap  he  might  'a  done,  for  he  was 
aye  tender  as  well  as  just.  Oh,  that  I  should  have  been  so 
false  to  him,  an'  so  cowardly  as  well!  Ay,  I  was  fearder  of 
hurtin'  him  nor  of  offendin'  my  God." 


478  THE    LATIMEKS. 

Her  hands  trembled;  her  voice  quavered,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  she  would  quite  break  down  and  sob  out  her  grief  and 
remorse.  But  she  set  her  underlip  within  her  teeth,  and 
clasped  her  hands  with  interlocked  fingers  till  the  blood 
forsook  them,  and  though  her  frame  shook  with  the  con 
flict,  she  Overmastered  her  feelings,  and  after  a  moment's 
pause  resumed  her  story  in  a  quiet  voice. 

"John,  Fve  been  a  false  woman  to  Luke  Latimer,  an' 
have  betrayed  the  trust  of  as  loyal  an'  lovin'  a  heart  as  iver 
bate  in  human  bosom/7 

"Mother!"  cried  John,  half  rising  from  his  seat  at  the 
shock  of  these  words. 

"Hist,  lad!  God  forgive  ye! — not  that,  not  that  you're 
a-thinkin'  of,  God  be  praised!  False  I  was,  but  not  un 
faithful.  Hear  til  me!  Ye  mind  the  story  your  father 
telled  you, — I  niver  telled  it  myself,  Heaven  knows! — of 
the  baby  Moses  that  came  til  us  on  the  Ohio  flood  two 
weeks  after  you  were  born,  an'  how  the  baby  died  while 
your  father  an'  grandfather  were  away  lookin'  after  their 
traps?  Ye  mind  it,  John?" 

"Yes,  mother,  I  remember  well.  And  the  grave  where 
the  little  fellow  sleeps  side  by  side  with  Bended  Knee." 

"Ay,  it's  that  of  which  I'm  to  tell  ye.  It's  there  'at  I 
was  false  to  Luke  Latimer,  for  the  baby  that  died  was  my 
own  child,  an'  you're  the  one,  John,  that  came  to  us  that 
day  on  the  ragin'  river." 

She  paused,  and  John  started  to  his  feet.  His  head 
seemed  to  whirl  around.  He  reached  out  both  arms  as  if 
to  ward  off  some  impending  danger.  His  limbs  grew  weak 
beneath  him,  and  he  dropped  back  into  his  seat.  The 
blood  beat  and  burned  around  his  temples.  Then,  through 
the  tumult  and  confusion  of  his  mind  flashed  the  thought 
that  grief  had  unseated  his  mother's  reason!  Thereat  a 
great  wave  of  pity  was  surging  through  his  heart,  when 
Mrs.  Polly,  who  had  followed  his  every  movement  with 
anxious  even  agonizing  gaze,  took  up  speech  once  more. 
She  spoke  with  the  same  low  voice,  but  slowly  and  steadily, 
as  if  struggling  with  a  hard  duty  and  resolved  to  go 
through  with  it. 

"It's  the  God's  truth,  I'm  a-tellin'  ye,  John.  Don't 
interrup'  me.  I'll  tell  ye  all  as  Christ  is  my  judge;  an'  oh, 
may  He  judge  me  marcifully;  and  may  you  too,  John 
Latimer!  While  Luke  and  grandfather  were  away,  my 


THE   LATIMERS.  479 

baby  died.  It  was  a  suddent  attack,  an'  I  was  all  my  lone 
there  in  the  woods,  for  Featherfoot  had  gone  away  with 
Meg  on  a  nadeful  arrant  an7  didn't  come  back  to  all  was 
over.  It  was  an  awful  hour  a-holdin'  my  dyin'  child  there 
in  the  lone  cabin  in  the  silent  forest,  an'  no  livin'  bein' 
near  but  a  helpless  infant,  the  wee  waif  we  had  rascued 
from  the  waters.  Oh,  the  sorrow  an'  amptiness  of  my 
heart  as  I  laid  my  dead  baby  boy  out  of  my  arms,  an' 
thought  of  his  father's  homecomin',  an'  the  bitterness  of 
his  disapp'intment  an'  grief. 

"Jist  then  you  stirred  an'  began  to  cry.  God  forgive 
me!  but  the  truth  it  is,  that  pitiful  wail  at  first  filled  me 
with  envy.  I  upbraided  God  for  takin'  my  boy  an'  lavein' 
the  little  stranger  lad.  My  heart  was  hardened  agin  you, 
an'  I  let  you  lie  an'  cry  untended.  But  you  was  iver  a  lusty 
bairn,  an'  lifted  up  your  voice  an'  lamented  so  loudly  that, 
for  pure  shame,  I  took  ye  up.  Then  ye  hooshed  your  cry 
an'  smiled  prettily  through  your  tears.  Oh,  you  were  a. 
bonny  babe,  John!  I  laid  you  to  my  breast,  an'  you  began 
to  gurgle  an'  suck,  an'  stare  up  at  me  with  your  blue  eyes, 
for  all  the  warld  the  very  marrows  of  my  own  baby  John's! 
Indade,  you  favored  him  strongly.  The  same  eyes,  an'  the 
same  silky  yallow  hair,  an'  the  same  broad  high  forehead, 
an'  rosy  complected,  an'  limb  for  limb  the  same  bigness; — 
for  bouncin'  babes  you  both  were. 

"It  must  'a  been  this  that  put  the  thought  intil  my 
head.  Luke  couldn't  tell  his  own  baby  from  the  lettle 
stranger;  an'  I  kep'  your  coral  necklace  about  your  throat 
for  him  to  tell  ye  apart.  I  knew  the  differ  bravely,  to  be 
sure;  but  men  are  not  so  obsarvent  about  weeny  weans, 
leastways  my  Luke  wasn't.  Then  it  came  to  me,  as  I  sat 
there  softly  cryin'  an'  nursin'  you,  how  an  Injun  fortun' 
teller  wanct  had  tellt  me  that  I  should  have  three  childer, 
three  an'  no  more.  Howiver  she  found  it  out  I  could  niver 
tell,  onless  it  was  pure  witchcraft;  but  the  truth  is  my 
mother  had  three  childer,  an'  her  gran'mother  afore  her 
the  same.  So  it  frighted  me  to  hear  what  the  old  squaw 
said,  an'  I  hurried  away.  But  I  didn't  forgit;  an'  when  my 
baby  was  born,  I  knowed  it  would  be  the  las'  child;  for 
one  darlin'  girl  baby  had  we  buried,  an'  Meg  bein'  a  lass, 
you  can't  think  what  store  I  put  by  the  laddie,  an'  most  of 
all  because  Luke  was  so  pl'azed  to  have  a  boy.  An'  now, 
thought  I,  he  will  come  home  an'  find  his  boy  dead! 


480  THE   LATIMERS. 

"Oh!  my  heart  was  sore  pained.  It  was  for  him,  for  love 
for  my  Luke  alone,  God  knows,  that  I  did  it.  I  don't  think 
I  really  meant  to  do  it  at  first.  But  as  I  laid  out  my  dead 
child  in  his  cradle,  I  seemed  j'alous  that  you  should  be 
robed  better  nor  he,  an'  I  put  upon  my  own  child  the  neck 
lace  that  you  wore  when  you  were  rascued,  an'  got  out  the 
dainty  frock  that  was  on  you  when  you  came,  an'  dressed 
the  lettle  body  in  it.  I  mind  yet,  thro'  all  the  years  I  mind 
how  swate  he  looked  in  it. 

"Jist  then  Meg  came  in  with  Featherfoot,  an'  seem' 
the  dead  child  lyin'  there,  went  up  to  him  an'  looked  at  him, 
an'  felt  his  cold  cheek.  Then  she  turned  to  me  an'  ast  what- 
iver  was  the  matter  with  Moses?  Was  he  dead?  She  did 
not  know  her  own  baby  brother!  Then  an'  there  it  was 
that  the  temptation  came  to  me  so  strong  that  I  gave  way 
til  it  an'  said,  'Ay,  Meg,  he  is  dead!' 

"She  wept  at  this,  an'  went  away  til  where  you  lay  an' 
began  soitly  cooin'  over  you  with  lovin'  words  an'  pet 
names.  Soon  thereafter  came  Luke  and  Bended  Knee,  an' 
Meg  ran  forth  an'  tellt  them  that  Moses  was  dead.  An'  I 
couldn't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  deny  it.  For  Luke  came  in 
an'  looked  pitifully  at  the  little  corp,  an'  then  turned  an' 
took  you  up,  an'  fondled  you  more  lovin'  nor  iver,  an' 
thanked  God  that  his  own  bonnie  laddie  was  so  bright  an' 
well!  Ah!  how  could  I  tell  him  then?  I  was  fearder  of 
hurtin'  my  husband  nor  of  off endin'  my  God.  They  all  de- 
saved  themselves,  an'  I  didn't  undesave  'em;  an'  from  that 
day  on,  they  niver  knew  better,  an'  niver  suspicioned  anny 
wrong. 

"Aven  Featherfoot  was  desaved  at  first;  but  afore  the 
burial  she  found  out  the  truth.  For  whin  she  came  to  help 
in  layin'  out  the  baby  for  his  coffin,  she  noticed  that  the 
birthmark  was  gone  which  baby  Moses  had  on  the  instep 
of  his  left  foot,  jist  on  the  side  thereof,  a  brown  half -moon- 
shaped  mole.  Then  she  crossed  over  to  where  you  lay  and 
looked,  an'  lo!  there  was  the  birthmark  on  your  foot!  An' 
that  is  how  she  found  out.  But  she  niver  telled  on  me. 
She  kep'  the  sacret  loyally.  Indade,  she  seemed  to  think 
little  of  the  matter,  for  she  took  it  that  I  had  adopted  the 
livin'  child,  as  indade  I  did,  an'  with  her  Indian  ideas  of 
adoptin'  childer  intil  their  tribes  an'  families,  she  saw  little 
differ.  A  son  was  a  son,  whether  by  birth  or  adoption, 
one  way  or  another,  what  mattered  it?  Only,  she  couldn't 


THE    LATIMERS.  481 

understand  why  I  wouldn't  tell  Luke,  or  what  differ  it 
would  make  with  him  more  nor  to  me. 

"Ah!  it  was  there  I  was  in  fault!  But  I  niver  could 
git  out'n  the  pit  intil  which  I  had  put  myself.  One  thing 
brought  on  another,  an'  the  longer  I  delayed  the  furder  I 
wrought  intil  the  mire,  an'  the  harder  it  was  to  break  forth. 
An'  now  it  is  too  late,  as  far  as  Luke  is  consarned.  I  can't 
undo  the  wrong  I  did  him.  He  loved  ye,  John,more'n  you'll 
iver  know,  for  he  was  not  a  man  for  to  show  his  feelin's. 
You  were  dear  to  him  as  the  apple  of  his  eye;  an'  though  I 
was  often  sore  pricked  in  heart  to  do  my  duty  an'  tell  him 
the  truth,  I  trimbled  an'  shrunk  back  least  I  might  blight 
his  fondest  love,  an'  raise  a  cloud  betwixt  him  an'  you,  as 
well  as  betwixt  him  an'  myself.  But  oh !  when  you  brought 
him  home  to  me  a  corp  the  morn,  I  couldn't  abear  it  longer. 
It  was  an  awful  warnin'  that  came  to  me.  An'  with  my 
dead  husband  lyin'  in  the  house,  I  resolved,  come  what 
would,  I  would  onburden  my  mind  to  you,  who  are  most 
consarned  to  know.  I  cannot  carry  the  saycret  longer.  Ay, 
John,  though  you  should  hate  me,  an'  lave  me,  an'  disgrace 
me  afore  all  the  town,  an'  I  should  go  forth  into  the  warld 
mother-naked  as  I  came,  ye  must  know  the  truth.  God 
help  me  an'  forgive  me! 

"An'  these  are  yours,  John,"  she  said  after  a  long  pause. 
Then  she  took  out  of  the  little  box  the  suit  of  baby  clothes 
and  the  little  coral  necklace,  and  laid  them  beside  the  Bible 
upon  the  stand. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

THE   PASSING   OF   JOHN  LATIMEB. 

As  the  confusion  and  shock  at  the  first  startling  news 
passed  away  a  strange  restlessness  possessed  John.  The 
foundations  of  his  life  seemed  to  have  suddenly  dropped 
out.  His  proper  self-hood,  his  personality — he,  John 
Latimer  was  passing  from  himself — whither?  Luke  Lati 
mer  not  his  father?  He  could  not  grasp  that  as  a  tangible 
fact.  This  woman  before  him  not  his  mother?  His  ears 
heard,  his  mind  gave  assent,  but  his  heart  could  not  receive 
it.  The  habits  of  life  refused  to  be  loosened.  A  multitude 
of  queries  and  doubts  and  indefinable  sensations  arose  and 
31 


482  THE    LATIMERS. 

whirled  over  the  plane  of  consciousness.  But  he  pushed 
them  aside,  and  listened  spellbound  to  Mrs.  Latimer's  con 
fession.  As  the  story  went  on,  he  arose  and  leaned  heavily 
upon  the  back  of  his  chair.  He  sat  down  again;  then  got 
up  and  walked  the  room,  his  eyes  fixed  the  while  upon  the 
narrator.  Then  he  leaned  against  the  foot  of  his  couch, 
arid  folded  his  arms  tightly  over  his  breast,  and  stirred  not 
till  the  tale  was  ended. 

Then  he  came  up  to  the  stand,  and  speaking  not  a  word, 
turned  over  and  over  the  dainty  baby  clothes  lying  there, 
brown  and  creased,  but  just  as  they  had  come  from  his 
infant  body.  He  took  up  the  coral  necklace  and  fingered 
it,  and  looked  at  the  golden  oval  bead  upon  it.  An 
image  seemed  to  arise  in  his  imagination,  shadowy,  spirit 
like,  of  a  woman  whose  hands  might  have  stitched  those 
tiny  garments,  and  fastened  that  toy  about  his  baby  neck. 
But  as  it  faded  away,  it  bore  the  form, — he  could  see  it  in 
no  other  wise — of  Mrs.  Latimer.  Still  he  said  nothing. 
Mrs.  Polly,  who  had  risen,  watched  him  with  deeply  flushed 
cheek  and  frightened  look.  At  last  John  looked  up 

"Mother!"  he  said.    "Did  you  never — " 

At  the  word  mother,  Mrs.  Polly's  face  was  illumined  as 
by  a  sunburst  from  a  dark  cloud.  Tears  came  to  her  eyes, 
and  waiting  not  the  end  of  John's  question,  she  sprang  for 
ward  and  threw  her  arms  around  the  youth,  and  laid  her 
face  upon  his  shoulder  and  wept. 

"Oh,  John!"  she  sobbed,  "can  you — call  me  mother, 
still?" 

John  for  answer  pressed  her  to  his  bosom,  and  stooped 
and  kissed  her  forehead,  and  led  her  to  her  chair,  and 
bade  her  be  seated  and  compose  herself,  for  she  was  sobbing 
violently.  When  she  was  somewhat  quieted,  John  finished 
his  question:  "'Did  you  ever  try  to  find  out  who  my  parents 
might  be?" 

"Did  I  iver  try?  Often  an'  often  I  thought  of  it.  But 
what  could  I  do?  It  was  few  people  we  saw,  save  Indians 
an'  stragglin'  hunters,  an'  now  an'  then  an  immigrant  boat 
that  stopped  at  our  cabin  landin',  an'  went  on  intil  the  wil 
derness.  It  behoved  to  be  cautious  lest  I  betray  my  say- 
cret,  an'  it  misliked  me  sore  to  tell  a  direct  untruth.  An'  I 
niver  did;  though  indade,  my  whole  life  was  little  less  nor 
a  livin'  lie.  But  I  bade  Featherfoot  find  out  what  she 
could;  an'  Luke  was  aye  tellin'  to  newcomers  the  story  of 


THE    LATIMEHS.  483 

Moses  an'  his  cradle.  But  no  thin'  iver  came  of  it.  The 
dark  forest  an'  the  lonely  river  kep'  their  own  saycret  fine, 
an'  all  that  I  iver  1'arned  is  jist  what  Tve'telled  ye  the  now. 
An',  0  John,  what  with  my  lost  Meg,  an'  my  dead  baby, 
an'  the  fear  of  bein'  found  out  hangin'  over  me,  an  the 
stress  an'  sting  of  a  hurted  conscience,  it  was  a  weary  road 
J  had  to  walk  an'  a  bitter  burden  I  bore.  You  would  'a 
pitied  me,  bereft  of  my  bairns,  an'  berated  by  my  troubled 
mind.  Ay,  an'  ye  may  pity  me  still;  tho'  comfort  came  to 
me  by  an'  by  in  the  love  I  grew  to  have  for  yourself.  For 
Heaven  is  my  witness,  I  soon  got  to  know  no  differ  atween 
you  an'  a  born  child  of  my  own.  An'  savin'  only  the  say- 
cret  that  I  kep'  from  ye,  I  niver  failed  in  duty, — I  defy  the 
face  o'  clay  to  say  that  1  iver  failed  in  duty  an'  love  to  you. 

0  my  poor  heart!    0  my  Saviour,  have  marcy!" 

The  tension  to  which  the  strong  willed  woman  had 
keyed  herself  for  the  telling  of  her  tale  relaxed  as  she 
reached  the  end.  She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
wept,  while  her  frame  shook  with  sobs.  John  stood 
forcing  back  the  sobs  heaving  up  from  his  breast,  the  tears 
meanwhile  trickling  down  his  cheeks.  When  Mrs.  Lati- 
mer  was  somewhat  composed  he  broke  the  painful  silence. 

"You  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  me,  mother?" 

"Nothin',"  said  Polly,  and  made  as  if  to  leave. 

"No,  no!"  John  exclaimed.     "Stay  here,  if  you  will. 

1  must  go  by  myself  and  think." 

He  took  up  the  coral  necklace,  leaving  the  other  things 
upon  the  stand,  and  went  forth  from  the  Latimer  cabin. 
He  crossed  the  Chartiers  by  the  little  bridge,  and  scarcely 
heeding  where  he  went,  turned  into  the  winding  path  to 
the  Hill  Church.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  once  more 
upon  the  flooded  river,  drifting  he  knew  not  where.  Who 
was  he?  What  mystery  was  this  that  had  suddenly  dropped 
into  his  life,  severing  him  from  all  he  held  most  dear? 

He  had  grown  up  with  a  strong  and  just  pride  in  his 
own  name  and  relatives.  Luke  Latimer  was  not  much 
#iven  to  moral  or  religious  lectures  or  lessons:  but  he  had 
a  few  simple  principles  which  he  tried  to  instil  into  his 
boy's  mind,  and  a  few  words  which  were  often  on  his 
tongue.  "Honor"  was  one.  He  made  much  of  that.  That 
seemed  to  him  indeed  the  principal  thing".  Be  honorable! 
he  would  say.  Be  the  soul  of  honor!  Keep  your  honor 
bright!  Never  do  or  say  aught  that  can  stain  your  honor! 


484  THE   LATIMERS. 

"Family"  was  another  favorite  word  with  Luke.  In 
deed,  he  linked  it  with  that  other,  and  made  much  of  family 
honor.  "Never  disgrace  your  family,  lad!"  he  would  say 
to  John.  "Your  family  are  proud  of  you.  Do  naught  that 
will  turn  their  pride  into  shame." 

Luke  made  no  claims  to  noble  descent,  or  high  con 
nection  in  the  old  country,  as  one  sometimes  heard;  but 
showed  honest  pride  in  an  honest  and  godly  stock,  and  an 
honorable  family  and  name.  John  from  his  childhood  had 
responded  keenly  to  these  lessons.  Next  to  "God"  and 
"duty,"  he  held  "honor"  the  worthiest  word  in  the  English 
tongue;  and  next  to  honor  came  "home"  and  "family." 
He  was  proud  of  his  family,  and  had  a  right  to  be.  And 
now,  he  was  not  a  Latimer!  He  had  no  family!  At  one 
blow  he  had  lost  all  that  he  had  been  taught  to  hold  dear. 
He  was — who  was  he? 

There  came  a  flush  of  indignation,  a  sense  of  personal 
injury  that  he  had  been  suffered  thus  to  take  root  in  the 
Latimer  home  only  to  be  rudely  torn  away  in  the  end. 
Why  was  he  not  told  the  truth  at  once,  that  his  life  might 
have  shaped  itself  truly  and  naturally  to  the  facts  ?  It  was 
wrong!  It  was  a  wrong  to  him  as  well  as  to  his  father! 

His  father!  That  is,  Luke  Latimer.  Could  he  ever 
think  of  him  in  any  other  way?  He  resented  the  thought 
that  he  must  lose  out  of  his  life  what  had  been  one  of  its 
greatest  pleasures,  the  sense  of  sonship  to  that  strong,  true, 
great-hearted  and  honorable  man,  who,  with  whatever 
shortcomings,  had  been  to  him  the  heart  of  goodness. 

At  this  point  in  his  mental  struggle  he  reached  the  spot 
where,  on  the  evening  of  the  sacramental  camp-meeting, 
he  had  stood  with  Fanny  McCormack  and  Blanche  Oldham, 
and  looked  upon  the  fair  landscape  as  it  stretched  away  to 
the  southwest  over  the  rolling  hills,  and  to  the  north  along 
the  winding  valley  of  the  Chartiers,  with  the  full  light  of 
the  moon  shining  upon  it.  How  changed  the  scene  since 
that  evening.  How  bleak  and  barren  now,  in  that  raw 
November  air,  with  the  gaunt  arms  of  the  leafless  trees 
stretched  toward  the  cold  gray  sky,  and  the  dull  and  low 
ering  clouds  trooping  across  it,  and  swirling  here  and  there 
in  wreaths  and  misty  rolls  around  the  summits  of  the 
peaks.  There  he  stood  and  thought  of  Blanche.  Ah, 
a  true  symbol  this  of  what  had  befallen  his  hopes;  dark 


THE   LATIMERS.  485 

clouds  and  chilling  winds  and  biting  frosts  and  blackness  of 
coming  winter.  The  hot  blood  throbbed  around  his  tem 
ples  as  he  recalled  the  supercilious  words  of  Gen.  Neville. 
And  now,  this  last  cruel  blow  must  surely  end  it!  If  her  kin 
would  scorn  him  as  the  son  of  a  reputable  citizen  of  good 
standing  and  fortune,  what  would  they  say  to  him  as  a 
nameless  waif? — a  penniless,  nameless  waif? 

Yes,  penniless!  For  though  Luke  Latimer's  will  left 
him  the  third  part  of  a  goodly  estate,  it  was  done  under 
the  delusion  that  he,  John,  was  his  son  and  therefore  en 
titled  to  it.  Well  he  knew  that  Mrs.  Latimer's  generous 
love  would  insist  that  the  will  should  hold.  But  could  he 
permit  it?  No!  Not  a  dollar  could  he  honorably  receive. 
He  would  go  forth  into  the  world  as  lone  and  poor  as  he  had 
come  into  it. 

But  how  could  he  go  forth  ?  He  was  a  prisoner,  charged 
with  treason  to  his  country,  to  be  marched  away  to  his 
country's  capital  and  tried  for  riot,  arson  and  treason. 
What  would  the  end  be?  An  ignominious  death?  prison? 
exile?  God  help  him!  Well,  what  mattered  it?  Heaven 
itself  seemed  to  be  against  him  during  these  last  two 
months.  The  rudest  billows  of  fate  had  gone  over  him, 
and  buffeted  him,  and  cast  him  up  without  name,  without 
family,  without  possession,  with  his  fair  reputation  and 
honorable  life  stained  with  a  secret  suspicion  and  an  open 
charge  of  an  infamous  crime. 

And  Meg?  What  would  she  say?  She  had  closely 
wrought  herself  around  his  affections  since  that  day  of  her 
deliverance.  Truly  he  loved  her.  And  must  he  wrench 
her  too  from  his  heart?  Could  he  expect  her  longer  to 
love  him  as  a  sister  loves  a  brother?  How  could  she  do 
so?  In  his  distress,  he  cried  aloud:  "Oh  mother  (still 
mother!),  how  could  you  do  this  thing?" 

John  had  now  reached  the  little  graveyard  back  of  the 
Hill  Church,  and  sat  down  upon  a  stile  that  gave  entrance 
from  the  churchyard  close  by  the  sanctuary  walls.  He 
gazed  around  upon  the  humble  headstones  and  monu 
mental  slabs,  and  thought  of  the  peaceful  rest  of  those  who 
were  sleeping  there.  How  gladly  would  ho  lie  down  with 
them  in  the  dreamless  slumber  of  the  dead!  His  musings 
were  broken  by  the  sound  of  voices.  Two  men  approached 
bearing  picks  and  shovels.  They  were  the  church  sexton 
and  a  helper. 


486  THE   LATIMEKS. 

"Ah!"  said  the  sexton  with  an  apologetic  tone.  "We 
have  jist  come  to  dig  the  grave — "  and  there  stopped. 

"My  father's  grave  ?"  asked  John,  rising  from  the  stile. 
"Luke  Latimer, — my  father?" 

"Ay,  John,  jist  that;  an'  maybe  it's  well  you're  here;" 
the  sexton  replied,  not  noting  the  broken  phrasing  that 
betokened  the  conflict  in  John's  mind.  "You  might  help 
us  mark  the  spot  where  your  mother  said  she  wushed  him 
laid."  That  office  done,  John  left  the  men  to  their  sombre 
but  needful  task  and  took  the  road  toward  home. 

Home?  Yes,  that  it  must  be  for  a  little  while  longer. 
The  scene  at  the  graveyard  had  given  his  mind  a  more 
kindly  turn.  His  thoughts  were  much  chastened,  and  his 
heart  softened.  Very  sad  and  quiet  he  was  as  he  slowly 
descended  the  hill.  As  far  back  as  memory  could  recall 
his  past,  from  the  first  consciousness  of  childhood  to  the 
present,  one  form  hung  above  and  circled  about  his  life. 
It  was  that  of  his  mother — his  mother  Latimer.  On  her 
generous  bosom  he  had  sobbed  away  his  boyish  griefs  and 
found  a  soft  pillow  for  his  fevered  and  aching  head,  when 
the  ills  of  childhood  had  visited  him.  A  strong,  wise,  lov 
ing  hand  was  hers  to  guide  him  through  the  perplexities 
and  crude  rugosities  of  youth. 

What  a  happy  home  had  she  made  for  him.  What 
brightness  and  warmth  awaited  at  the  fireside  and  table 
when  he  came  in  from  daily  duty.  What  heartsome  wel 
come  when  he  got  home  from  hunting,  scouting  and  boat 
ing.  Did  ever  mother  do  more  for  her  own  child  than 
Mrs.  Latimer  had  done  for  him?  Could  one  be  loved  by 
a  real  mother  more  than  he  had  been  loved?  Oh,  the 
wealthiness  and  unwearied  output  of  the  long-suffering 
patience  and  self-denial  of  her  service!  And  all  that  for 
one  who  was  not  her  own  child;  for  a  waif  borne  to  her 
breast  from  the  bosom  of  the  flooded  Ohio! 

Was  not  this  love?  Ay,  mother  love!  or  so  nigh  akin 
to  it  that  he  at  least  could  not  discern  the  difference. 
What  did  he  not  owe  to  her?  He  owed  her  his  life,  such 
as  it  was, — a  poor  possession  now  for  him  or  for  anyone.  He 
owed  all  that  he  had  been  or  hoped  to  be  to  her  and  to  her 
husband.  What  then  should  he  do?  What  could  he  do? 
Come  what  would,  his  love  and  gratitude  for  her  should 
never  lessen!  Yes,  his  mother  she  must  remain,  as  far  as 
love  and  allegiance  could  go. 


THE   LATIMERS.  487 

He  stepped  off  more  quickly.  The  decision  seemed  to 
give  a  buoyancy  to  his  feelings.  Providence  had  cast  his 
lot  with  the  Latimers.  Why  should  he  go  counter  thereto 
and  separate  his  destiny  from  them?  Yet,  was  not  some 
thing  due  to  truth  and  honor?  Should  not  his  true  rela 
tions  to  the  Latimers  be  made  known?  Surely!  But  how 
would  the  telling  affect  his  mother?  Would  it  not  so  lower 
her  in  public  opinion  that  her  life  would  be  made  miser 
able?  What  would  Dr.  McMillan  say?  and  the  Church 
Session?  That  was  a  serious  matter,  indeed!  What  would 
be  gained  by  publishing  the  facts?  Would  it  not  be  better 
to  let  matters  abide  as  they  were,  for  the  present  at  least? 
Surely  something  was  due  to  charitv  as  well  as  to  truth. 

He  paused,  and  gazed  at  the  straggling  village  beneath 
him,  the  blue  smoke  curling  from  its  cabin  chimneys. 
With  the  gray  sky  and  dusking  day,  the  shadows  were 
deepening  along  the  valley.  Across  the  cottage  windows 
played  the  flicker  of  blazing  wood  fires  and  the  glimmer 
of  candle  lights.  Yonder  was  the  Latimer  cabin!  There, 
in  the  darkened  room  lay  the  silent  form  of  one  whom  he 
had  loved  above  all  men.  And  still  loved!  There,  his 
mother  awaited  his  coming, — yes,  he  did  not  doubt  it — 
with  anxious  heart.  And  Meg,  poor,  dear  Meg! 

And  Fanny  McCormack?  Was  she  there  too?  No! 
She  must  have  gone  home  now.  Must  Fanny  know? 
What  would  she  say  to  all  this?  He  had  been  thinking 
of  that  all  along,  with  a  longing,  which  almost  over 
mastered  him,  to  tell  her  everything.  Yet,  he  dreaded  the 
telling,  lest  somehow  it  might  change  her  and  becloud  her 
sisterly  love.  And  then? — 

But  he  must  have  help.  His  heart  craved  human  sym 
pathy  and  counsel.  Whose  advice  could  be  so  much  to 
him,  so  wise  and  true,  so  sure  to  be  right,  as  that  of  his 
childhood's  loving  friend  and  playmate — his  sister  Fanny? 
He  had  never  had  a  sorrow  or  joy,  never  a. plan  of  serious 
work  and  duty,  never  even  a  deep  emotion  (save  one)  that 
he  had  not  carried  to  her,  and  shared  with  her,  and  always 
been  the  happier  and  better.  He  must  tell  her  this  also ! 

Yes,  come  what  would,  he  would  confide  in  her  and  be 
guided  by  her  counsel.  He  must  settle  his  plans. in  life 
once  for  all.  After  that  wretched  imprisonment  and  trial 
should  be  over,  he  must  start  life  anew.  What  ought  he  to 
do?  Should  he  let  the  world  know  all?  He  would  away  to 


488  THE  LATIMEKS. 

Fanny  McCormack.  That  at  least  was  clear.  Fanny  must 
know  all  and  tell  him  what  to  do.  He  sprang  away  down 
the  road  with  rapid  pace,  and  bent  his  steps  toward  the 
McCormack  cabin.  At  that  hour  of  the  evening,  he  felt 
sure  Fanny  would  be  there,  called  thither  by  the  pressing 
duties  of  household  and  store. 

He  had  guessed  aright.  Fanny  had  just  returned  from 
the  Latimers,  and  was  at  the  desk  in  the  store  going  over 
the  simple  accounts  of  the  day.  She  was  alone.  The  cus 
tomers  were  at  their  evening  meals;  and  the  lads  had  run 
out  for  a  frolic  in  the  fresh  air. 

Fanny  marked  at  once  the  signs  of  agitation  in  John's 
face  and  manner.  She  had  never  seen  him  in  that  wise. 
He  was  even-tempered  and  self-poised  and  rarely  flurried, 
although,  when  matters  required,  swift  in  action  and  execu 
tion.  But  now?  What  was  it?  Not  his  father's  death, 
for  nothing  of  this  manner  had  appeared  during  the  day. 
What  had  happened?  She  laid  down  her  pen  and  with  a 
throbbing  heart  and  anxious  glance  that  came  despite  her 
efforts  to  be  composed,  awaited  his  approach. 

"Fanny,  have  you  heard  anything?"  John  asked,  com 
ing  to  the  desk  and  speaking  without  formal  greeting. 

"Have  I  heard  anything?"  echoed  Fanny.  "I  do  not 
understand.  What  is  the  matter,  John?" 

"Mother  has  told  you  nothing,  then?" 

"Nothing!" 

"Are  you  alone?" 

"Quite  alone." 

"I  have  something  I  must  say  to  you  all  by  yourself." 

"You  can  speak  freely,  then.  We  shall  not  be  inter 
rupted,  I  think."  She  spoke  quietly,  but  there  was  a  quaver 
in  the  tones  of  her  voice  that  betrayed  her  inward  agita 
tion.  What  could  John  have  to  say  to  her?  Had  he  at  last 
found  out?  No!  Unworthy  thought.  Silence!  Shame 
to  think  of  it  now.  The  maid's  cheeks  flushed  and  her 
eyes  flashed.  Then  she  cast  them  down,  and  looked  at  the 
book  before  her,  and  tapped  upon  the  desk  with  the  nib 
of  her  quill. 

John,  thinking  only  of  unburdening  his  mind  and  get 
ting  the  help  which  he  craved,  told  the  story  in  rapid  and 
impassioned  utterances;  told  all  his  feelings,  all  his  strug 
gles,  his  perplexities,  his  doubts.  He  made  a  clean  breast 
of  it  all,  leaning  upon  the  top  of  the  desk  as  he  talked. 


THE   LATIMERS.  489 

Fanny  started  at  the  shock  of  the  first  news,  and  with 
a  cry  of  painful  wonder  dropped  back  upon  the  high  writ 
ing  stool,  and  leaning  forward  upon  the  account  book,  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands  and  wept.  John  waited  patiently 
until  Fanny  had  got  the  mastery  of  her  emotion  and  raised 
her  face  flushed  and  wet  with  tears. 

"0  John!"  she  cried.  "0  my  brother!  I  am  so  sorry 
for  you." 

When  all  was  told,  the  matter  which  troubled  him 
most  came  up.  Should  he  make  the  truth  known,  or  hide 
it?  How  could  he  keep  up  the  deceit  before  the  world? 
Yet  how  could  he  bear  to  bring  upon  his  mother  the  re 
proach  of  a  disclosure?  What  would  Fanny  advise? 

"The  truth  must  be  told,  John!"  Fanny  said  at  last. 
She  spoke  slowly,  and  every  word  seemed  to  cause  pain  in 
utterance;  but  there  was  no  token  of  doubt  in  her  tones. 
John  had  felt  sure  that  such  would  be  the  verdict;  yet  it 
seemed  to  fall  upon  him  like  a  sentence  of  death. 

"The  truth  must  be  told!"  Fanny  repeated.  "But  not 
by  you,  John.  Mrs.  Latimer  might  make  it  known  to  Dr. 
McMillan,  and  leave  him  to  settle  matters  with  the  Church 
and  the  people.  Stay  you  here  meanwhile,  and  go  quietly 
on  as  usual.  Do  you  not  still  love  Luke  Latimer?" 

"Yes,  with  all  my  heart.  I  could  not  love  and  cherish 
his  memory  more  were  he  my  own  father.  I  know,  I  feel 
no  difference.  Yes,  I  love  him  still/' 

"And  Mrs.  Latimer?" 

John  hesitated  a  moment,  for  he  wished  to  be  true  to 
his  conscience,  and  speak  forth  his  heart  without  disguise 
to  Fanny  looking  at  him  there  through  her  steady  blue 
eyes,  mirrors  of  that  soul  of  truth  within. 

"The  news  was  a  shock  to  that  reverence  and  absolute 
confidence  which  I  have  always  held.  There  was  a  shrink 
ing  away  at  first,  as  if  I  could  never  feel  as  I  have  felt.  I 
was  confused,  yes  angry,  I  do  not  deny.  But  that  has 
passed; — at  least  it  has  nearly  gone.  I  have  thought  of  all 
that  has  been  done  for  me.  My  heart  unites  with  my 
reason  to  cling  to  mother  Latimer  as  my  own  mother.  I 
could  not  feel  otherwise;  I  would  not  if  I  could.  For  the 
present,  at  least,  whatever  time  may  affect,  I  have  only 
one  mother,  and  I  can  say  with  my  whole  heart  that  I  love 
and  shall  continue  to  love  her  as  such.  Besides,  I  prom 
ised  father  Latimer  on  his  dying  bed  that  I  would  never 
cease  to  care  for  her  and  Meg.  I  will  be  true  to  my  word." 


490  THE   LATIMERS. 

"Thank  God  for  what  you  say!"  was  Fanny's  answer 
"It  is  what  I  expected." 

"Another  thing  troubles  me,"  John  continued. 
"Father  told  me  that  he  left  me  an  equal  share  of  his 
estate.  I  cannot  accept  it.  Even  if  it  should  be  proved 
lawful  for  me  to  do  so,  I  cannot  reconcile  it  with  my  own 
sense  of  right.  After  the  funeral,  I  shall  give  myself  up 
to  the  Government  authorities,  and  shall  be  taken  for  trial 
to  Philadelphia,  I  suppose.  What  the  end  will  be,  Heaven 
only  knows;  but  whatever  betide,  I  must  take  up  life 
anew.  But  not  here  in  Canonsburg!  On  some  other  field, 
perhaps  the  new  West,  I  must  try  my  fortunes." 

"Have  you  thought,"  said  Fanny,  speaking  with  hesi 
tating  words  in  broken  sentences,  "that  this  may  seriously 
affect  your  prospects  with — that  is,  your  hopes  of — " 

"Blanche,  you  mean,  I  suppose?"  John  interrupted. 

Fanny  lowered  her  eyes,  fearful  that  she  had  intruded, 
and  tapped  lightly  with  the  pen  point  upon  the  desk. 
"Yes,  I  feared  you  might  have  forgotten, — " 

"No,  I  have  thought  of  that.  But  what  difference 
could  it  make?  I  have  no  reason  to  hope — but  if  I  did, 
would  that  matter?" 

"No,  certainly  not,  not  with  Blanche.  At  least,  if  she 
loved  you  as — as  she  ought!"  Fanny  answered. 

Tap,  tap,  tap!  The  nib  of  the  quill  beating  upon  the 
desk-lid  was  the  only  sound  that  broke  the  silence,  as  the 
two  young  people  paused.  Both  pairs  of  eyes  followed  the 
monotonous  movement  of  Fanny's  fingers,  a  tumult  of  fear, 
disappointment  and  hope  beating  within  their  breasts. 

"Have  you  told  Meg?"  Fanny  asked  at  length,  escaping 
from  the  embarrassing  situation  by  changing  the  subject. 

"I  have  not,  and  I  dare  not  think  of  doing  so.  Would 
you  mind  telling  her?  It  will  come  best  from  you." 

"Yes,  I  will  tell  her.  Poor,  dear  Meg!  I  fear  it  will 
go  hard  with  her.  I  will  come  over  after  supper." 

Fanny  closed  the  account  book  and  rose  from  the  stool. 
John  gave  her  cordial  thanks  and  reached  a  hand  across 
the  desk,  which  Fanny  took  and  gently  pressed.  But  John 
would  not  leave  it  so,  for  he  bent  over  and  raised  the  hand 
to  his  lips  and  kissed  the  back  thereof.  "My  good  angel!" 
he  said.  "My  true-hearted  sister!"  Then  he  left  the  store 
and  left  too  a  hot  tear  drop  on  Fanny's  fingers. 

Fanny  followed  him  to  the  door  and  closed  it  and 


THE   LATIMERS.  491 

turned  the  key.  She  paused  and  put  her  lips  to  the  spot 
that  John  had  kissed.  Then  returning  to  her  place,  she 
kneeled  down  in  the  narrow  gangway  behind  the  counter, 
and  laying  her  head  against  the  shelf,  sobbed  aloud. 

"Hush,  my  heart!"  she  murmured.    "God  help  us  all!" 

She  lifted  up  her  face  to  Heaven,  and  with  clasped 
^iands,  in  the  shadow  of  the  darkening  evening  prayed 
silently  for  John  Latimer.  This  done,  she  arose  composed 
in  spirit,  and  entering  the  cottage  by  the  rear  door,  sat 
down  to  the  evening  meal  with  countenance  bright  with  the 
reflected  peace  within,  and  with  cheerful  voice  talked  over 
with  the  household  the  events  of  the  day. 

Surely  self-sacrifice  has  its  own  especial  type  of  joy. 
You  do  not  call  it  happiness?  Well,  then,  call  it  blessed 
ness;  and  let  us  say  that  this  was  the  grace  that  enfolded 
the  spirit  of  Fanny  McCormack  that  night  as  with  a  gar 
ment  of  myrrh.  This  was  not  a  new  conflict  now  waged 
within  her,  nor  a  new  victory  won;  only  another  stage  of 
the  old  struggle,  another  triumph  of  true  love  over  self-love. 
She  knew  now,  and  had  long  known  that  she  loved  John 
Latimer  so  well  that  she  would  not,  even  if  she  could,  draw 
him  to  herself  from  another  woman  with  whom  he  could 
be  happier.  Yet,  there  were  times  when  she  inwardly 
chafed  at  this  verdict,  and  wondered:  could  she  really  love 
him  and  be  willing  to  lose  him,  even  for  the  sake  of  his 
greater  happiness?  Verily  there  grows  within  the  garden 
of  the  heart  a  plant  called  "Bittersweet,"  and  Fanny  knew 
well  the  mingled  savors  thereof. 

Mrs.  Latimer  awaited  John's  coming  with  an  anxiety 
that  even  her  sorrow  for  the  dead  could  not  quench.  Sho 
had  lifted  a  corner  of  the  curtain  and  watched  him  from 
the  window  as  he  climbed  the  hill  path,  until  he  was  lost  to 
view.  She  knew  that  he  would  fight  out  the  matter  by 
himself  (that  was  ever  his  use  and  wont),  and  come  back 
with  mind  made  up  one  way  or  another.  So,  at  his  home 
coming  she  glanced  keenly  into  his  face  for  outward  token 
of  his  mind.  It  was  all  right!  She  saw  that  and  was  glad. 

John  came  up  and  kissed  her  and  said  softly  but  very 
tenderly,  "my  mother!"  Then  her  tears  welled  forth,  but 
they  were  tears  of  joy  as  mucii  as  of  sorrow.  He  kissed  her 
again,  and  spoke  out  so  that  Meg  and  Mrs.  Burbeck  might 
hear:  "Keep  a  good  heart,  you  still  have  Meg  and  me." 

When  the  evening  meal  was  done,  Meg  arose  and  got 


492  THE   LATIMEES. 

the  family  Bible,  and  without  a  word  laid  it  down  before 
John,  as  she  had  learned  to  do  for  her  father.  "Ay,  John, 
you  must  tak'  the  Book  now,"  said  Mrs.  Polly.  "There's 
none  else  to  lade  our  warship." 

Keverently,  then,  John  opened  the  volume  and  read 
the  chapter  which  his  father  loved,  the  fourteenth  of  St. 
John's  Gospel,  whose  pages  were  thumb-marked  with  fre 
quent  reading.  As  John  read  on,  the  sweetness,  the  com 
fort  and  happiness  of  the  gracious  words  of  Jesus  distilled 
into  his  heart,  and  fell  like  gentle  dew  upon  the  spirits  of 
those  who  heard  them. 

As  he  closed  the  book  and  kneeled  down,  Meg  softly 
came  and  kneeled  beside  him.  Her  mother  seeing  that; 
came  also,  and  kneeling  on  the  other  side,  bowed  forward 
weeping  upon  the  table  edge.  John  placed  one  arm  about 
each  of  the  mourning  women,  and  so,  with  face  uplifted, 
took  up  the  household  priesthood  that  Luke  Latimer  had 
laid  aside,  and  as  best  he  could  led  the  family  prayer. 

This  done>  he  slipped  away  to  his  own  room.  There 
lay  the  baby  things  that  Mrs.  Latimer  had  given  him.  He 
took  them  up  and  examined  them  closely,  and  wondered: 
Would  he  ever  know  who  his  parents  were?  Would  these 
things  be  the  key  to  unlock  the  mystery?  He  picked  up 
the  pocket  Bible  and  turned  over  the  pages  with  a  new 
interest.  Here  and  there  a  passage  had  been  marked,  and 
a  rude  figure  of  an  index-hand  drawn  upon  the  page. 
Whose  hand  had  done  this?  he  inwardly  questioned.  One 
text  especially  caught  his  eye.  It  was  enclosed  in  brackets, 
and  on  the  margin  in  a  delicate  hand,  a  lady's  handwriting 
evidently,  were  what  seemed  to  be  the  initials  of  a  name. 

"When  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me,  the  Lord 
will  take  me  up."  M.  M. 

He  sat  for  a  long  time  musing  upon  the  text. 
He  had  often  noted  this  and  other  marked  passages, 
but  in  truth  had  taken  no  special  heed  to  them. 
There  they  had  always  been,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to 
raise  a  query  about  the  matter.  But  now?  It  was  a  vain 
fancy,  he  knew,  but  he  indulged  it,  and  dreamed  and 
dreamed  of  what  had  been,  and  what  might  be? 

He  turned  to  the  title  page.  The  name  and  date  had 
once  been  written  thereon,  but  they  were  so  thoroughly 
blotted  out  with  heavy  ink  lines  that  not  a  letter  could  be 


THE   LATIMEES.  493 

traced.  He  turned  the  fly  leaves,  and  noted  a  print  pasted 
upon  the  inside  cover,  which  had  often  excited  his  boyish 
wonder,  but  which  he  had  long  ceased  to  think  about.  It 
was  a  book  plate  with  an  engraved  coat  of  arms.  There 
had  been  an  engrave!  name  also,  it  would  seem,  but  that 
was  erased,  as  was  the  lower  part  of  the  figure. 

Of  heraldry,  its  uses  and  its  symbols,  John  was  ignor 
ant,  or  had  but  the  f  r  intest  glimmer  of  knowledge.  He  had 
indeed  heard  of  coat  armor,  and  shields  and  crests,  from 
folk  around  him,  some  of  whom  were  not  unfamiliar  there 
with  in  the  old  country.  But  in  the  fierce  republicanism 
of  the  era,  all  such  gawds  and  vanities  were  despised  and 
eschewed  as  toys  and  tokens  of  a  proud  aristocracy.  It  was 
therefore  but  the  dimmest  outline  of  a  thought  that  came 
to  him  that  perhaps  these  hieroglyphs  might  mark  for  him 
the  trail  to  those  who  could  unfold  the  mystery  of  his  birth. 

Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  known  books  sold  in  the 
open  market  at  a  Pittsburg  store  with  like  devices  in  them; 
old  books  that  had  drifted  west  from  Philadelphia,  from 
New  England,  from  Great  Britain,  from  Holland,  the  flot 
sam  of  broken  libraries  picked  up  by  immigrants  and  by 
them  bartered  again.  Perhaps  this  Bible  had  a  like  his 
tory.  Indeed,  some  of  the  books  in  his  scant  library  had 
thus  been  purchased;  and  this  picture  on  the  book  plate, 
it  might  well  be,  had  naught  to  do  with  the  last  owner. 
Still,  in  some  way  the  Bible  was  associated  with  his  in- 
fancv.  It  lay  in  his  cradle  as  if  someone  had  been  reading 
it  when  the  flood  came,  and  had  thrown  it  into  the  cradle 
and  fled  for  life.  A  rap  on  the  door  startled  him. 

"Come  in!" 

At  his  call,  Meg  Latimer  entered,  and  standing  with 
hand  upon  the  half-open  door,  hesitated  and  looked 
timidly  toward  him.  John  rose  and  came  near  to  her. 

"Has  Fanny  told  you?" 

'TTes,  Fanny  told  all.  She  say  you  not  my  brother 
John!  How  that?  Meg  not  understand.  You  not  my 
born  brother,  mebbe.  Meg  sorry  for  that,  very  sorry!  But 
what  differ  make  that?  Mother  say  she  adopted  you  into 
the  family.  She  take  you  for  her  true  son,  same  as  her 
own  dead  baby.  That  very  good,  too.  That  all  the  same 
now  as  if  you  were  true  born  child,  so  mother  say.  That 
Indian  way,  too.  That  a  good  way!  She  love  you  still. 
You  her  own  boy  now, — if  you  like.  You  must  like!  Oh, 


494  THE    LATIMERS. 

John,  you  will  like?  Meg  cannot  give  you  up.  You  are 
her  own  brother  still.  Father  love  you  very  much.  He 
put  Meg's  hand  in  yours  afore  he  die,  and  say  'you  will 
love  one  another  truly!  You  will  care  for  Meg,  my  boy?' 
Oh,  John,  what  you  say  to  that?" 

The  maid  spoke  rapidly,  dropping  wholly  the  reserve 
with  which  her  Indian  habits  had  clothed  her  ordinary 
speech.  Her  voice  trembled  with  the  eagerness  of  her 
heart.  Tears  were  glistening  on  her  long  eyelashes. 

"You  not  going  to  leave  us,  John?  You  not  get  angry, 
and  cast  us  away  from  you?  No,  No!  Who  save  Meg 
from  Indian?  Brother  John!  Who  bring  her  home  and 
give  her  father  and  mother  and  everything?  Brother  John! 
Who  watch  with  her  when  father  die,  and  say  he  never, 
never  leave  her?  Brother  John!  Yes,  yes,  mother  take 
you  for  her  son;  you  take  Meg  for  sister,  too?  You  my 
brother  John  still?" 

John  watched  the  beautiful  girl  as  she  made  her  plea 
for  brotherly  love  with  such  eloquent  manner  and  speech, 
and  his  heart  beat  high  with  happiness  and  pride.  He 
took  her  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  "Oh,  Meg,  my 
sister,"  he  said,  "it  is  I  who  should  plead  for  your  love. 
Who  am  I  to  think  of  throwing  away  such  a  priceless  gift? 
God  bless  you  for  your  love!  I  am  happy  and  grateful  to 
you  for  it.  God  do  so  to  me  and  more  also  if  aught  but 
death  part  thee  and  me!" 

Meg  smiled  through  her  tears,  and  said  "Good  brother 
John!  Come!  Let  us  go  to  our  mother." 

And  the  two  went  out  of  the  room  hand  in  hand. 


CHAPTER    L. 

OFF  TO   PHILADELPHIA. 

Four  horsemen — John  Latimer,  Andy  Burbeck,  Mort 
Sheldon  and  Nathan  Lane — slowly  held  along  the  road 
from  Canonsburg  to  Pittsburg.  The  funeral  rites  were 
over,  and  Luke  Latimer  had  been  left  to  sleep  on  the  sunny 
bosom  of  the  hill  whereon  the  Chartiers'  Churchyard  lies. 
Home  farewells  had  been  spoken;  for  John  and  Andy  were 
about  to  redeem  their  parole,  and  give  themselves  up  to 


THE   LATIMEES.  495 

the  national  authorities  at  Pittsburg,  expecting  to  be  sent 
to  Philadelphia  to  be  tried  for  treason.  It  was  therefore 
a  sad  and  silent  group  that  jogged  along  the  road  through 
the  Chartiers'  Valley. 

But  Hope  is  a  perennial  fountain  in  man's  breast. 
John  was  young;  Andy's  buoyant  spirits  could  not  long 
%be  repressed;  and  little  by  little  conversation  started.  The 
habit  of  companionship  cleared  the  obstructed  channels, 
and  the  gloom  of  home  good-byes  was  gradually  lightened. 
Naturally,  the  talk  turned  upon  the  impending  trials,  and 
the  probable  treatment  at  Pittsburg  and  Philadelphia. 
Thence  it  drifted  to  the  condition  of  affairs  in  the  Survey, 
and  especially  in  Washington  County.  What  should  be 
come  of  those  who  had  been  arrested?  What  should  be 
come  of  those  who  had  fled?  So  came  David  Bradford 
upon  the  scene,  and  the  manner  of  his  flight. 

Nathan  Lane  had  been  given  the  duty  of  warning  those 
in  Washington  and  the  neighborhood  who  were  blacklisted 
upon  the  paper  so  mysteriously  placed  in  Luke  Latimer's 
hands.  David  Bradford  was  among  this  number,  and  at 
his  door  Nathan  presented  himself  in  due  time.  The 
house  stood  and  still  stands  on  Main  Street,  and  was  one 
of  the  finest  in  the  West,  and  said  to  be  the  first  stone 
residence  built  in  the  village.  Nathan's  knock  brought  a 
slave  girl  to  the  door,  \vho  held  with  one  hand  to  the  brass 
knob  of  the  huge  iron  lock,  and  peered  suspiciously  from 
within  through  the  narrow  opening,  and  asked  what  was 
wanted.  The  manner  of  the  servant  betrayed  the  master's 
anxiety. 

Nathan's  explanation  was  satisfactory,  and  he  was  ad 
mitted  into  the  wide  hall,  where  he  noted  the  broad  stair 
way  with  its  ornamented  rails  and  balustrade  of  solid 
mahogany,  a  most  notable  object  in  that  day  there  on  the 
verge  of  the  wilderness.  He  was  shown  into  the  parlor,  a 
spacious  room  with  a  wood,  fire  burning  in  the  fireplace 
over  which  was  a  mahogany  mantel.  The  surrounding 
wall  was  wainscoted  with  mahogany  panels  to  the  very 
top  of  the  carved  cornice. 

After  a  brief  waiting,  Nathan  was  shown  into  the  ad 
joining  room.  Bradford  sat  at  a  desk  placed  before  the 
fireplace,  whose  mantel,  as  with  the  parlor,  was  panelled  to 
the  ceiling.  On  either  side  were  shelves  with  quaintly 
leaded  glass  doors.  Bradford  laid  aside  his  papers,  and 


496  THE   LATIMERS. 

knowing  Nathan  well,  greeted  him  with  that  genial  manner 
which  had  won  him  wide  popularity  among  all  classes. 

"A  cold  morning,  Mr.  Lane,"  he  said.  "Sit  up  to  the 
fire,  sir!  Pray,  to  what  am  I  indebted  for  this  early  call? 
Surely  our  staid  friend  Passon  Nathan  has  not  got  into  any 
trouble  that  requires  my  legal  counsel?" 

"Wall,  no,  Squire!"  Nathan  replied.  "Not  jist  pre 
cisely  that.  I  ain't  in  no  scrape,  onless  comin'  here  may 
count  for  one.  The  boot  is  on  t'other  foot  this  time." 

"Ah?"  exclaimed  Bradford,  looking  up  quickly,  and 
fixing  a  disturbed  and  inquiring  gaze  upon  his  visitor. 
"What's  in  the  wind  now?  Something  about  myself?" 

"It's  jest  that,  Mr.  Bradford.  I'm  not  come  to  git  but 
to  give  counsel.  Fact  is,  an'  there's  no  use  beatin'  about 
the  bush  as  I  ever  seed,  I'm  like  Cushi  of  old,  a  bearer  of 
evil  tidings.  The  Government's  got  a  purty  sizable  trap 
ready  to  spring,  an'  as  I've  found  out  that  you're  included 
among  the  victims,  I've  come  to  say  that  I  reckon  about 
the  best  thing  you  kin  do  is  to  light  out  suddent,  and  make 
tracks  for  the  Ohio  kentry  or  New  Orleans." 

Thereupon  he  told  how  he  had  come  by  his  information, 
and  rose  to  leave.  "You  know,  Squire  Bradford,"  he  con 
tinued,  "that  I  never  took  nary  stock  in  your  schemes  an' 
doins'.  But  I  like  to  see  every  man  have  a  fair  chance,  an' 
don't  approve  by  no  manner  of  means  the  way  the  army 
officials  are  calkelatin'  to  treat  our  citizens.  Seems  as 
though  they  was  goin'  slap-dab  into  the  face  of  President 
Washington's  proclamation." 

Bradford  questioned  Nathan  until  he  was  thoroughly 
satisfied  that  the  warning  was  timely,  and  then  dismissed 
him  with  warm  thanks  for  his  friendly  act.  "Be  sure,  sir," 
he  said,  as  he  shook  Nathan's  hand  cordially,  "that  I  shall 
not  divulge  the  name  of  my  kind  informer.  I  would  be 
loath  to  bring  suspicion  upon  one  who  has  done  me  this 
good  turn,  not  without  risk  to  himself." 

"'Taint  wuth  speakin'  of,  Squire,"  Nathan  replied. 
"Shucks!  I  wouldn't  give  a  pinch  of  snuff  for  a  man  that 
wouldn't  resk  somethin'  to  git  a  neighbor  out  of  trouble. 
Good  bye,  sir!  and  good  luck  to  ye!" 

Thus  far,  Nathan  could  report  to  his  companions  how 
he  had  fulfilled  the  duty  committed  to  him.  What  followed 
that  was  a  matter  of  common  fame.  Sooner  than  Brad 
ford  expected  the  soldiery  visited  him.  They  had  intended 


THE    LATIMERS.  497 

to  take  him  unawares,  but  Nathan's  warning  prevented 
surprise.  Bradford  was  in  his  office,  hastening  the  ar 
rangement  of  his  papers,  when  the  troop  came  up  the 
street.  His  faithful  slaves  were  on  the  lookout  and  ran 
to  him  with  the  news.  Without  further  ceremony  he 
escaped  through  a  back  window  of  his  office,  and  made 
good  his  flight. 

At  Pittsburg,  Capt.  Dunlap  was  found  busy  preparing 
to  escort  Governor  Mifflin  back  to  Philadelphia,  having 
been  assigned  command  of  the  advanced  corps  of  the  Penn 
sylvania  cavalry  on  their  return  march.  John  and  Andy 
were  therefore  turned  over  to  the  provost  guard.  After 
expressing  their  hearty  gratitude  to>  Capt.  Dunlap  for  his 
considerate  treatment,  and  bidding  their  companions  good 
bye,  they  were  conducted  to  the  garrison,  and  delivered  to 
the  care  of  Major  Butler,  the  commander.  Here  they  were 
kept  a  week  awaiting  orders  to  proceed  to  Philadelphia 
under  an  escort  commanded  by  Gen.  Ledger  Bloodson,  who 
had  been  assigned  to  that  service  at  his  own  particular  re 
quest.  On  the  last  day  of  their  stay  a  sentinel  called  Andy 
into  the  commandant's  office  to  see  a  visitor.  He  crossed 
the  parade  ground  to  the  little  brick- building  built  by 
Col.  Bouquet  in  1764,  and  which  still  remains,  the  sole 
relic  of  Fort  Duquesne,  and  is  known  as  the  Block  House. 
Mr.  Ormsby,  a  citizen  of  Pittsburg  with  whom  Andy  had  a 
slight  acquaintance,  greeted  him  warmly  and  presented 
him  to  the  commandant  with  the  remark:  "This  is  the 
man,  sir;  this  is  Andrew  Burbeck." 

Major  Butler  handed  Andy  a  paper,  which  he  turned 
over  several  times  and  glanced  at  the  endorsements  on  the 
back.  Then  he  slowly  opened  it,  wondering  the  while  what 
it  could  be.  This  is  what  he  read: 

HEADQUARTERS,  PITTSBURG,  November  24,  1794. 

By  direction  of  Major  General  Henry  Lee,  Commander- 
in-Chief,  Brigadier  General  Ledger  Bloodson  will  release 
the  prisoner  Andrew  Burbeck  of  Washington  County,  now 
confined  in  the  garrison  at  Fort  Pitt. 

DANIEL  MORGAN, 
Major  General  Commanding  the  Winter  Defense. 

Beneath  this  was  an  endorsement  as  follows: 

In  accordance  with  the  above  order,  Major  Butler  will 
please  discharge  without  further  delay  the  prisoner,  An 
drew  Burbeck.      LEDGER  BLOODSON,  Brigadier  General. 
32 


498  THE   LATIMERS. 

Andy  slowly  read  the  order.  He  was  confounded.  He 
thrust  his  fingers  through  his  hair  until  every  particular 
red  capillary  seemed  standing  upon  end.  "Whativer  does 
this  mane,  sir?"  he  exclaimed.  "A'  don't  understand  it," 

"It  means  that  you  are  discharged,  Mr.  Burbeck,  and 
I  heartily  congratulate  you!"  returned  Major  Butler.  "Mr. 
Ormsby  will  explain  the  rest;  you  owe  your  release  to  him." 

Andy  turned  his  wondering  gaze  upon  his  visitor,  hold 
ing  the  while  the  document  with  both  hands.  "Is  it  a  joke 
you're  playin'  off  on  me?"  he  asked. 

"A  joke,  my  good  fellow!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ormsby, 
grasping  one  of  Andy's  hands  and  warmly  shaking  it. 
"Nothing  was  ever  surer  than  that  you  are  a  free  man;  and 
I  wish  you  joy  of  the  same.  I'm  glad  to  be  able  to  do  this 
for  you  as  some  slight  proof  of  my  gratitude." 

"Gratitude?"  echoed  Andy.  "Come  now,  Mr.  Ormsby, 
that's  another  riddle  you're  puttin'  til  me.  A'  niver  had 
anny  dalein's  with  you  in  my  life,  barrin'  a  ferry  acrost  the 
river  betimes  whan  sarvin'  for  Luke  Latimer." 

"Hah!  my  fine  fellow,"  Mr.  Ormsby  returned.  "Have 
rou  forgotten  the  night  on  Braddock's  Field?  I  never 
new  what  I  owed  you  till  yesterday  morning,  when  I 
chanced  to  meet  Zedick  Wright,  who  asked  about  you.  He 
spoke  many  good  words  in  your  behalf,  which  I  little 
minded,  till  he  related  how  your  kind  ?nd  canny  maneu 
vers  saved  my  lad's  life  from  the  masked  ruffians  who  would 
have  hung  him.  I  have  some  influence  with  the  authorities 
here,  thank  God!  and  I  never  gave  myself  a  bit  of  peace  till 
that  discharge  was  signed.  And  there  it  is,  just  in  time  to 
save  you  from  the  march  to-day.  My  good  wife  and  myself 
will  hold  you  in  grateful  remembrance  as  long  as  we  live; 
and  my  son,  sir,  will  soon  speak  for  himself,  I  hope." 

Andy  listened  with  keen  interest.  A  merry  twinkle 
came  to  his  eyes,  which  gradually  grew  into  a  smile,  and 
then  into  a  broad  grin  that  broke  forth  in  hearty  laughter. 
"Ah,  that's  it,  is  it?  Ha,  ha!  Axcuse  me,  gintlemin,  it 
wasn't  quite  ginteel  to  laugh  out  that  way.  But  it  ?ud 
make  a  dog  laugh  to  mind  that  affair.  Bless  my  heart,  Mr. 
Ormsby,  if  you'd  a  knowed  how  much  ginoowine  fun  A' 
had  out'n  that  divarteesment,  you'd  niver  'a  mentioned 
gratitude.  Ay,  A'  was  well  paid  for  what  lettle  A'  did.  Ha, 
ha!  Howsomiver,  A'm  obleeged  to  ye  all  the  same,  an'  A'm 
truly  grateful  for  your  kindness.  But  sir,  if  it's  all  the 


THE   LATIMERS.  499 

same  to  you,  A'  can't  accip'  this  bit  o'  paper."    Whereupon 
he  handed  the  document  to  Major  Butler. 

"Are  you  mad?"  the  officer  exclaimed. 

"A'm  not  mad,  your  honor!"  Andy  answered,  "but 
spake  forth  words  of  sober  a'rnest.  Jist  as  long  as  Cap'n 
Latimer  is  a  prisoner,  Andy  Burbeck  stays  a  prisoner,  too. 
A'm  off  to  Philadelphy  the  day  with  him,  an'  its  share  an' 
share  alike  with  us!" 

"This  is  nonsense!  Absurd!"  exclaimed  Major  Butler. 
"What  good  can  you  do  Capt.  Latimer  if  you  go  with  him 
as  a  prisoner?  You  don't  even  know  that  you  would  be 
allowed  to  march  in  the  same  gang  with  him;  or  stay  in 
the  same  prison  when  you  arrive;  or  be  tried  at  the  same 
time;  or — pshaw!  Guard,  ask  Capt.  Latimer  to  please 
step  over  to  headquarters." 

The  honest  soldier's  words  were  quick  and  brusque, 
as  they  fell  upon  the  ear;  but  there  was  a  glimmer  in  his 
eyes,  and  something  rising  in  the  throat,  that  showed  how 
Andy's  act  of  self-denying  friendship  had  won  his  heart. 
John  appeared  in  a  few  moments,  and  without  a  word 
Major  Butler  handed  him  the  order  for  Andy's  discharge. 

"Thank  God!"  exclaimed  John,  when  he  had  read  the 
paper.  His  face  was  radiant  with  ioy,  and  seizing  both  of 
Andy's  hands  in  his  own,  he  shook  them  again  and  again 
and  wished  him  joy.  "Now,  I  can  go  away  in  peace,  my 
dear  old  friend,"  he  cried.  "Hurrah!  Hurry  back  to 
Canonsburg,  and  carry  my  love  to  all  the  home  folks,  and 
my  hearty  congratulations  to  Peggy.  Ay,  and  to  Bounce 
and  Betty  and  Rouse  and  all  the  rest.  This  is  glorious 
news,  indeed.  How  did  it  come  about?" 

All  this  time  and  while  Major  Butler  briefly  explained, 
Andy  remained  silent,  and  stood  with  downcast  eyes,  and 
John  wondered  at  that. 

"And  now,"  the  Major  concluded,  "your  friend  flatly 
refuses  to  accept  his  discharge,  and  has  returned  the  docu 
ment  to  me.  Doubtless,  you  can  guess  the  reason,  sir;  and 
one  might  well  envy  you  such  devoted  friendship  as  this, 
which  prefers  the  discomforts  and  sufferings  of  a  prison 
with  a  friend,  to  the  pleasures  of  freedom  apart  from  him!" 

"Dear  old  friend!"  John  cried,  turning  and  once  more 
grasping  Andy's  hands.  "Did  you  indeed  do  that  for  me? 
Thank  you,  with  all  my  heart.  But  it  must  not  be.  It 
snail  not  be!  I  cannot  accept  such  a  sacrifice  as  this, 


500  THE   LATIMEES. 

though  I  feel  proud  and  glad  that  you  stand  ready  to  make 
it.  I  would  never  have  a  peaceful  moment  were  I  to  per 
mit  you  to  do  this  wrong  to  yourself  and  family.  Ay,  and 
to  myself,  too.  You  can  serve  me  better  here  than  any 
where  else.  You  can  stay  and  watch  for  me,  and  report 
how  affairs  go,  and  serve  me  in  a  hundred  ways  that  may 
help  on  my  case  to  a  favorable  isiue.  Besides,  you  forget, 
Andy,  that  father  left  the  ferry  in  your  hands  with  a  half 
interest  in  the  business.  You  might  sacrifice  your  own 
share  justly;  but  how  about  mother's?  You  owe  it  to  her 
and  to  Meg,  ay,  and  to  the  memory  of  your  dead  friend  to 
stay  here  and  bide  by  the  stuff." 

By  this  time,  tears  were  rolling  down  Andy's  cheeks. 
He  had  difficulty  in  commanding  his  voice,  and  at  last 
spoke.  "Well,  Jock,  an  A'  must,  A7  suppose  A'  must! 
But  it  goes  agin  the  grain  to  lave  you  alone  in  the  hands 
of  the  Pheelistines.  But  A'  know  there's  no  changin'  your 
mind  wanct  it's  truly  made  up.  A'  mind  your  mother's 
wush  for  ye,  manny  an'  manny's  the  time:  the  Lord  kape 
him  right,  for  A'  know  he'll  be  steadfast!  A'  jalous  A'  must 
axcep'  my  liberty,  though  it  mislikes  me  sore." 

"A  wise  decision!"  said  Major  Butler.  He  endorsed  the 
document:  "Andrew  Burbeck,  discharged  this  24th  No 
vember,  1794."  Then  he  signed  it,  and  gave  it  to  his 
adjutant,  directing  him  to  make  out  a  copy  for  Andy. 

"And  now,  Capt.  Latimer,"  he  continued,  "the  time 
has  come  for  you  to  leave.  The  prisoners  are  being  mus 
tered.  The  troop  escort  is  formed,  and  I  see  you  are  ready 
for  the  journey.  Ah,  there  goes  the  bugle!  Good  bye, 
sir!  And  may  your  suit  prosper  as  you  deserve." 

"Your  honor,"  said  Andy,  as  the  Major  moved  away. 
"Mayn't  A'  march  a  bit  of  the  way  with  Cap'n  Latimer? 
This  comes  very  suddent  like,  air  A'  think  A'd  be  better 
raconciled  til  't  if  A'  could  see  my  friend  safely  on  his 
journey.  It  'ud  be  a  great  comfort  to  me,  that!" 

"You've  a  strange  idea  of  comfort,"  the  commandant 
remarked  with  a  smile.  "Especially  on  such  a  bleak  day 
as  this.  But  if  it's  any  satisfaction,  be  off  with  you!  I 
shouldn't  wonder  to  hear  that  you  had  enlisted  as  a  trooper 
and  had  gone  to  Philadelphia  with  your  friend  as  one  of 
his  guard." 

"Not  a  bad  idea  that,  your  honor!"  said  Andy,  "an' 
God  save  ye  for  your  kindness.  Mayhap  A'll  consider  it. 


THE    LATIMEES.  501 

But,  no! — hark  til  yon,  wull  ye?  They'll  be  no  listin'  for 
Andy  Burbeck  in  yon  company,  your  lionor.  Them's  the 
Jarsey  Blues." 

The  sound  which  had  won  Andy's  attention  was  a 
chorus  which  the  troopers  had  started  while  waiting  for 
their  final  orders.  They  were  jubilant  at  being  homeward 
bound,  and  voiced  their  pleasure  in  a  song  evoked  by  the 
stirring  events  of  the  time,  and  which  was  very  popular 
among  the  soldiers  of  New  Jersey.  It  had  been  written 
by  Gen.  Howell,  the  Governor  of  that  State,  when  the 
President  called  for  troops  to  march  to  Western  Penn 
sylvania.  These  are  the  words  that  the  troopers  sung  and 
which  excited  Andy's  unfavorable  comment: 

JEKSEY  BLUES. 

To  arms  once  more,  our  hero  cries, 
Sedition  lives  and  order  dies. 
To  peace  and  ease  then  bid  adieu, 
And  dash  to  the  mountains,  Jersey  Blue. 

CHORUS. 

Dash  to  the  mountains,  Jersey  Blue, 

Jersey  Blue,  Jersey  Blue  ! 
And  dash  to  the  mountains,  Jersey  Blue ! 

Tho*  tears  bedew  the  maiden's  cheek, 

And  storms  hang  round  the  mountains  bleak, 

'Tis  glory  calls  ;  to  love  adieu  ; 

Then  dash  to  the  mountains,  Jersey  Blue. 

Should  foul  misrule  and  party  rage 
With  law  and  liberty  engage, 
Push  home  your  steel,  you'll  soon  review 
Your  native  plains,  brave  Jersey  Blue. 

Dash  to  the  mountains,  Jersey  Blue, 

You'll  soon  review,  you'll  soon  review 
Your  native  plains,  brave  Jersey  Blue. 

The  last  lines  so  stirred  the  singers  with  the  glad  hope 
of  home-coming,  that  they  fairly  made  the  welkin  ring 
with  their  refrain.  Andy  shook  his  head.  "The  sooner 
the  better!"  he  muttered,  "Whup  out  of  the  land  as  fast 
as  ye  like.  The  Westerners  '11  not  begrudge  ye  a  sight  of 
your  native  plains.  Good  riddance  of  bad  rubbish,  siz  we, 
for  Jarsey  Blues  '11  long  be  a  name  of  terror  to  Washington 
County  folk." 


502  THE    LATIMEKS. 

Major  Butler  stood  in  the  doorway  and  heard 
Andy's  soliloquy.  "Yet  the  Jersey  Line,"  said  he,  "are 
among  the  best  disciplined  soldiers  of  the  army." 

"It  'ud  ill  become  me  to  conterdic'  ye/'  Andy  replied. 
"An'  it  'ud  'a  been  different  if  your  honor  had  commanded 
'em  astead  of  Giner'l  Bloodson.  It's  the  old  proverb,  you 
know,  about  the  fly  in  the  pound  of  intment." 


CHAPTEE  LI. 

JOHN  GETS  INTO  JAIL  AND  THERE  GRAPPLES  WITH  CERTAIN 

MYSTERIES. 

The  song  of  the  jubilant  troopers  had  no  echo  in  the 
prisoners'  hearts.  Disturbed  by  prospects  of  their  future, 
distressed  by  present  inconveniences,  grieving  bitterly  for 
the  losses  that  must  follow  their  removal,  and  the  poverty 
and  suffering  that  must  befall  their  families,  most  of  them 
fell  into  line  at  the  order,  with  slow  movement  and  sorrow 
ful  visage.  Some,  like  John  Latimer,  were  supported  by 
the  force  of  their  indignation  at  their  unworthy  treatment. 

An  escort  of  forty  mounted  soldiers  formed  around 
them,  and  they  marched  away  from  the  garrison,  across 
the  Common,  through  the  village  of  Pittsburg  towards 
Greensburg  in  Westmoreland  County.  Two  days  thereafter, 
November  27th,  the  troop  arrived  in  Greensburg  and  the 
prisoners  were  lodged  in  the  jail.  On  the  29th,  they  were 
drawn  out  and  paraded  in  the  streets  midleg  deep  in  mud 
and  snow,  and  were  finally  turned  over  to  Major  Durham. 
Then  they  proceeded  upon  their  weary  journey  to  Phila 
delphia.  Each  prisoner  marched  on  foot  between  two 
mounted  soldiers.  The  guards  were  ordered  by  Gen. 
Bloodson  to  keep  their  swords  drawn,  and  if  any  attempt 
should  be  made  at  rescue,  "the  heads  of  the  prisoners 
should  be  cut  off  and  brought  to  Philadelphia." 

There  were  twenty  prisoners  in  all.  Among  them  was 
one  minister,  Rev.  John  Corbley.  There  were  several  mili 
tary  officers,  Col.  John  Hamilton,  Sheriff  of  Washington 
County  and  commander  of  a  regiment  of  militia;  Col.  Wm. 
Crawford,  and  Capt.  Robert  Porter  who  commanded  a 
company  in  the  war  for  Independence  and  subsequently  in 


THE    LATIMERS.  503 

the  frontier  defense.  Many  of  them  were  ill  provided 
against  the  rigors  of  the  march  before  them.  John  Latimer 
had  supplied  himself  with  changes  of  underwear,  which 
were  stowed  in  leather  saddlebags  that  he  carried  strapped 
upon  his  shoulders  like  a  knapsack.  His  pocket  Virgil  and 
a  volume  of  Shakespeare  had  a  place  therein.  His  Bible  he 
carried  in  his  pocket,  and  the  relics  of  his  babyhood  were 
next  his  body  in  a  pouch  that  hung  about  his  neck.  He 
wore  strong  cloth  leggings  wrapped  about  the  lower  legs 
as  a  protection  against  tae  heavy  roads.  His  lusty  strength 
and  high  spirits  supported  him  —ell  through  the  wearisome 
march,  and  left  him  some  surplus  to  expend  in  comforting 
and  helping  his  feebler  fellow  sufferers. 

There  followed  a  dismal  journey  of  thirty  days,  made 
along  the  most  primitive  roads,  over  mountains,  through 
forests,  across  streams,  painfully  plodding  through  snow 
and  mud  in  the  most  inclement  time  of  the  year.  At  night 
the  prisoners  were  placed  in  cellars,  barns  and  such  other 
places  as  suited  the  disposition  or  fancy  of  their  guards. 
Some  of  these  were  considerate  and  even  kind.  Others 
frequently  vented  their  ill  humo,,  real  or  pretended,  against 
the  rebels  who  had  occasioned  their  going  so  far  over  the 
hills  and  mountains  "without  the  satisfaction  of  a  man 
to  oppose  them  or  a  gun  fired  at  them." 

Near  the  pretty  railroad  station  of  Bala,  one  may  see 
the  remainders  of  what  was  known  a  century  ago  as  the 
Black  Horse  Tavern.  Before  this  wayside  hostelry  the 
prisoners  were  paraded  for  their  last  day's  march.  They 
were  a  dejected  and  travel-stained  band.  One  can  hardly 
imagine  the  state  in  which  a  month's  tramp  afoot  under 
the  above-named  conditions  of  weather,  roads  and  lodging 
must  have  left  these  unfortunates.  Even  John  Latimer, 
who  was  always  fastidious  in  the  care  of  his  person,  and 
by  long  experience  in  scouting  knew  how  to  meet  such  a 
situation,  found  himself  sorely  bedraggled.  Knowing  that 
he  would  be  conducted  through  the  streets  of  the  capital, 
he  tried  to  make  himself  presentable. 

He  had  chosen  for  the  march  his  scouting  uniform, 
a  green  hunting  shirt  fringe  i  with  orange,  and  his 
scout's  coon-skin  cap  with  its  pendant  tail  and  an  eagle 
feather  at  the  side.  He  now  hung  upon  his  left  breast  two 
decorations  which  he  prized.  One  was  a  medal  for  skill  in 
shooting  at  the  Legionville  match;  the  other  Gen.  Wayne 


504  THE   LATIMEES. 

had  given  him  for  valor  as  a  scout.  After  a  long  inward 
debate  he  added  a  third  decoration,  for  who  knows,  thought 
he,  what  might  coma  from  it?  It  was  his  coral  necklace, 
knotted  in  loops  with  the  bit  of  plaid  ribbon  which  came 
with  it,  and  the  pendant  oval  golden  bead. 

Another  decoration  was  offered  him  by  the  Major  com 
manding  the  troops,  which  was  not  so  nattering  to  his 
vanity.  As  the  prisoners  were  drawn  up  in  rank  ready 
to  move,  a  slip  of  white  paper  was  presented  to  everyone, 
on  which  was  written  in  large  letters  the  word  "Insurgent.'' 
It  was  to  be  worn  in  the  hat  like  a  cockade.  This  was  done 
by  Gen.  Bloodson's  command,  and  against  Major  Durham's 
remonstrance.  John  Latimer  gravely  received  his  paper, 
and  with  mock  courtesy  bade  the  commandant  commend 
him  to  Gen.  Bloodson  for  his  fleur  de  luce,  then  tore  it  to 
pieces  and  trampled  it  in  the  mud.  A  few  others  refused 
to  mount  their  dishonorable  cockades;  but  the  most  part 
had  grown  indifferent  to  insult,  and  timorous  lest  they 
might  further  compromise  their  cases  submitted  to  the 
humiliation. 

A  three  miles  march  along  the  Lancaster  road  brought 
the  strange  parade  to  the  Market  Street  bridge  over  the 
Schuylkill.  On  the  hills  to  the  left  were  the  pleasant 
homes  of  the  straggling  village  of  Hamiltonville  (now  West 
Philadelphia),  showing  among  their  groves  of  stately  trees. 
Along  the  banks  of  the  Schuylkill  still  remained  many 
tokens  of  the  huge  camps  which  had  been  established  for 
the  fugitives  from  the  town  during  the  yellow  fever  pesti 
lence  of  the  preceding  summer.  Beyond  the  bridge,  the 
spaces  now  occupied  with  solid  blocks  of  dwellings  were 
chiefly  held  by  fields  and  farm  houses,  with  here  and  there 
bunches  of  buildings,  pioneers  of  the  future  city. 

But  though  the  houses  had  not  yet  come  to  the  river 
bank,  the  people  were  there.  For  this  was  a  holiday;  the 
happiest  holiday  of  all  the  year  in  the  old  Philadelphia  as 
it  is  now  in  the  new.  Across  the  river,  and  over  the  rolling 
wood-capped  hills  that  swelled  upward  from  the  Delaware 
and  Schuylkill,  the  guards  and  prisoners  alike  had  heard 
the  bells  of  Christmas,  mellowed  by  the  distance,  ringing 
worshippers  into  their  sanctuaries.  To  the  soldiers  the 
sounds  proclaimed  a  Merry  Christmas,  and  told  of  rest 
and  feasting  and  welcome,  and  home-folks  near  at  hand. 
They  were  in  high  expectation,  and  boisterous  jollity  pre- 


THE   LATIMERS.  505 

vailed.  Horses  were  groomed  until  they  shone,  arms  and 
accoutrements  were  burnished,  uniforms  brushed  and 
brightened,  and  with  light  hearts  and  hearty  outbursts  of 
song  and  cheer,  they  heard  the  bugle  call  to  advance.  But 
for  the  prisoners  on  that  day  there  was  no  "peace  on  earth," 
and  no  umen  of  good  will"  to  hail  them  on  the  thither  bank 
of  the  Schuylkill.  Wearily  they  fell  into  line,  and  trudged 
away  towards  their  nation's  capital  with  only  one  consola 
tion  in  their  hearts — that  their  toilsome  march  was  nearly 
over,  and  they  would  soon  know  the  worst. 

Groups  of  citizens  who  had  come  to  the  bridge  to  get 
the  first  view  of  the  captive  insurgents,  increased  into  hun 
dreds  as  the  parade  approached  the  town.  The  hundreds 
grew  into  thousands  as  the  city  was  reached.  Twenty  thou 
sand  citizens,  high  and  humble,  men,  women  and  children 
had  turned  out,  and  thronged  the  sidewalks  of  Philadelphia 
to  see  these  twenty  woebegone  Western  insurgents  osten 
tatiously  paraded  through  their  streets! 

Around  the  city  streets  the  triumphal  procession  moved 
by  a  circuitous  route,  and  still  the  populace  shouted  as 
though  some  victory  had  been  won.  "Can  it  really  be?" 
John  exclaimed,  for  he  was  highly  wrought  up  and 
could  not  restrain  his  speech,  "that  this  people  honestly 
think  these  troopers  have  done  some  great  and  valorous 
act?  Twenty  mud-stained  men,  peaceful  citizens  all  of 
them,  brought  three  hundred  miles  across  the  mountains 
as  the  sole  trophies  of  fifteen  thousand  soldiers  who 
marched  to  the  West,  and  who  are  now  marching  back 
again,  without  firing  a  shot  or  finding  a  foe  to  shoot  at? 
Can  it  be  possible  they  believe  this  to  be  an  achievement 
worthy  of  such  a  triumphal  reception?  I  wonder  if  Gen. 
Washington  approves  all  this?" 

The  parade  turned  into  Mulberry  (now  Arch  Street) 
near  the  Delaware  shore,  and  moved  westward  again.  It 
passed  the  little  shop  where  Mrs.  Betsy  Eoss  made  the  first 
American  flag,  and  which  readers  may  see  to-day,  if  they 
will.  At  the  door  the  good  dame  stood  like  another  Bar 
bara  Fritchie,  waving  a  little  American  flag  at  the  passing 
soldiers,  her  face  jubilant  as  with  the  joy  of  a  national 
conquest.  The  parade  crossed  Third  Street,  and  beyond  it, 
near  the  corner  of  Fourth,  passed  a  spacious  house  whose 
front  porch  was  occupied  by  a  group  of  ladies  and  gentle 
men.  A  Christmas  party,  no  doubt,  who  had  stopped  their 


506  THE   LATIMERS. 

home  festivities  to  come  forth  and  see  the  great  holiday 
show  of  the  day. 

"Look!"  whispered  Col.  Hamilton  to  John  Latimer, 
"there's  Col.  Presley  Neville!" 

John  turned  just  in  time  to  see  that  Col.  Neville  had 
recognized  him  in  the  prisoners'  ranks,  and  was  calling 
the  fact  to  the  attention  of  a  lady  who  sat  beside  him. 
The  lady  arose,  and  gazed  toward  the  front  file  of  pris 
oners  in  which  Capt.  Latimer  marched.  It  was  Blanche 
Oldham!  Capt.  Burd  stood  behind  her.  The  whole  party 
showed  by  their  movements  that  Col.  Neville's  informa 
tion  had  spread  among  them,  and  all  were  intently  gazing 
toward  John. 

What  should  he  do?  The  blood  mounted  hotly  to  his 
cheeks.  Ah,  if  he  had  not  looked  that  way!  If  he  had 
passed  unwittingly,  proudly  marching  by,  as  he  ought  to 
have  done! — looking  straight  before  him  and  taking  no 
heed  at  all.  But  now?  He  could  not  withdraw  his  eyes. 
A  resistless  fascination  fixed  them  upon  Blanche.  She  had 
seen  him.  Their  eyes  met.  Can  his  vision  have  deceived 
him?  The  maid  raised  her  handkerchief  and  waved  it 
toward  the  ranks!  Too  late  to  hinder  it,  Col.  Neville 
reached  forth  his  hand  and  tried  to  stay  the  act,  his  face  the 
while  glowering  with  displeasure. 

The  eyes  of  the  balcony  party,  which  had  rested  a 
moment  before  upon  John  Latimer,  were  turned  by  this 
movement  upon  Blanche  Oldham.  She  vielded  her  hand 
kerchief  to  the  Colonel,  but  fixing  her  eyes  again  upon 
John,  dropped  a  profound  courtesy  and  left  the  porch. 
Not,  however,  before  she  had  noted  John  Latimer  lift  his 
hat  and  bow,  as  he  marched  by,  with  a  grace  which 
(as  one  of  the  ladies  remarked  with  unqualified  surprise) 
was  worthy  of  a  trained  courtier.  Capt.  Burd,  who  had 
raised  his  hand  to  his  hat  at  Blanche's  first  motion,  bowed 
to  John  in  cordial  recognition,  and  followed  the  lady  into 
the  house. 

How  that  family  party  ended  John  never  heard.  But 
one  thing  he  well  knew,  that  thereafter  he  seemed  to  be 
walking  upon  the  clouds.  What  cared  he  for  the  hooting 
rabble?  What  cared  he  that  all  the  finer  feelings  of  his 
nature  had  been  dishonored  to  help  grace  a  Christmas  holi 
day  for  a  street  mob?  Blanche  Oldham,  at  least,  had  seen 
and  saluted  his  manhood,  and  dared  to  acknowledge  his 


THE   LATIMEKS.  507 

name  and  friendship  in  the  face  of  the  people  and  of  her 
friends.  And  Oapt.  Burd,  too, — generous  fellow!  Ah? — 

At  last  the  disgraceful  scene  was  ended;  no  doubt  to  be 
remembered  with  supreme  disgust  by  many  who  had 
assisted  in  it  when  their  sober  second  thought  came  next 
day.  The  prisoners  were  brought  to  the  new  city  jail  at 
Sixth  and  Walnut  Streets  and  locked  up  in  the  cells.  It 
was  a  boisterously  happy  Christmas  holiday  in  the  town 
outside  the  prison  walls.  Christmas  greens  hung  at  the 
windows.  Christmas  trees  glowed  in  nursery,  parlor  and 
living  room,  as  the  shadows  of  evening  gathered.  Every 
inhabitant  of  the  city  had  eaten  and  drunken  his  full.  It 
was  Christmas,  Merry  Christmas,  and — the  Insurrection 
was  put  down! 

But  in  the  prison  cells,  that  Christmas  night,  not  a 
crumb  of  food  nor  a  ray  of  light  came  to  relieve  the  hunger 
and  weariness  and  homesickness  and  humiliation  and  dis 
tress  of  those  twenty  friendless  men.  Yet,  not  one  of  them 
was  afterward  found  guilty;  and  many  of  them  were  as 
innocent  as  John  Latimer,  of  act,  or  purpose,  or  even 
thought  of  treason  and  insurrection. 

The  next  day  the  turnkey  entered  John's  cell  with  a 
package,  which  he  handed  him  with  a  mysterious  and 
important  air.  Mr.  I.  Turner  Locke  (spelled  with  an  "e" 
if  you  please!)  was  his  name,  as  appeared  in  printed  char 
acters  on  certain  soiled  cards  which  he  distributed  to  his 
guests.  The  same  further  set  forth  that  Mrs.  I.  Turner 
Locke  kept  a  general  provision  store  at  No.  —  Sixth  Street, 
within  an  easy  block's  distance  from  the  jail,  and  would 
be  pleased  to  furnish  gentlemen  (meaning  the  prisoners, 
convicts,  etc.)  at  their  lodgings  (meaning  their  cells)  with 
such  comforts  and  luxuries,  solid  and  fluid,  as  etc.,  etc. 

Mr.  I.  Turner  Locke  was  a  podgy  person,  five  feet  nine 
or  ten  inches  high,  with  a  massive  protuberance  in  front 
which  was  encased  in  a  long  buff  waistcoat,  with  tre 
mendous  flapped  pockets.  These  were  commonly  filled 
with  sundry  miscellaneous  articles,  including  snuff,  which 
he  took  freety,and  carried  traces  of  it  at  the  neb  of  his  nose. 
His  legs  were  developed  proportionately  with  his  paunch, 
and  were  of  nearly  equal  thickness  from  body  to  slippers. 
His  knee  and  shoe  buckles  had  a  dull  lustre  suggestive  of 
pewter,  though  he  habitually  alluded  to  them  as  silver.  His 
catsup-colored  coat  was  greasy  with  long  use.  His  bulbous 


508  TrE    LATIMEHS. 

cheeks  hung  in  rolls  to  his  double  chin,  and  the  face  was 
shaven  clean — twice  a  week,  and  at  intervals  between 
shaves  presented  the  appearance  of  a  patch  of  stubble 
whose  redness  rivalled  that  of  his  nose.  His  head  had  an 
open  swath  of  hairlessness  from  the  forehead  over  the 
cranium  to  the  fat  wrinkled  neck  behind,  and  its  fringes 
on  either  side  were  of  reddish-brown,  tipped  with  gray. 

"Good  mornin',  Capt.  Latimer!"  said  Mr.  Locke.  He 
spoke  in  a  voice  whose  soft  unctuousness  highly  became  a 
person  of  his  general  oleaginous  conditions.  "This  package 
was  brought  you  a  w'ile  ago  by  a  gentleman  w'at  seemed  to 
be  an  officer.  He  wanted  to  see  you,  but  it's  agen  orders 
without  a  permit  from  the  U-nited  States  Marshal;  so  I  had 
to  refuse  him.  And  you'll  excuse  me,  sir,  for  examinin'  of 
the  package;  but  that's  orders,  too.  Nothin'  comes  to  the 
prison  without  inspection." 

John  thanked  the  turnkey,  and  waited  for  him  to  retire 
before  he  broke  the  wrappings,  but  that  gentleman  lin 
gered.  He  moved  about,  apparently  inspecting  the  cell 
furniture,  but  gave  John  occasional  glances  as  if  some 
thing  were  on  his  mind,  which  he  wished  to  communicate. 

"By  the  way!"  at  last  he  said,  as  if  a  thought  had  sud 
denly  struck  him.  "I  was  much  interested  in  them  deco 
rations  w'ich  you  wore  on  your  buzzum  yesterday.  You 
hain't  them  on  now,  I  see?" 

"No!"  said  John,  "I  rarely  mount  them;  only  on  great 
occasions — such  as  yesterday,  you  know." 

"Jes'  so,  jes'  so!  But  you  wouldn't  mind  showin'  of 
?em  to  a  feller  now,  would  you?  I'd  be  ever  so  much 
obleeged." 

"Not  at  all!"  said  John,  and  took  out  of  his  side  pocket 
a  little  bag  from  which  he  withdrew  two  medals  and 
handed  them  to  Mr.  Locke. 

That  gentleman's  face  betrayed  disappointment.  But 
he  feigned  satisfaction,  and  examined  the  medals  care 
fully,  commenting  upon  their  designs,  with  sundry  com 
plimentary  phrases  interspersed.  "And  so  you  was  a 
scout,  was  you?  And  fought  with  the  Injuns?"  Mr. 
Locke  spoke  with  enthusiasm.  "I  must  have  a  good  long 
yarn  about  that  from  you  some  day.  But  not  now,  not 
now!  They'll  be  plenty  of  time,  I  sus-pect.  Now,  I  always 
did  think  I  would  like  to  have  ben  a  scout.  I  fancy  I 
might  have  done  somepin  in  that  line  meself.  Though, 


THE   LATIMEES.  509 

perhaps,"  glancing  with  an  approving  look  upon  his  pro 
tuberant  front,  "me  heft  might  be  a  leetle  agen  me.  Is 
them  all  your  decorations?" 

"These  are  all  the  medals  I  have,"  John  answered. 

"Come  now;  there's  another,  Fm  sure,"  insisted  Mr. 
Locke.  "You  might  as  well  be  comfortable  and  confiden 
tial  with  me."  He  twisted  his  face  into  what  was  intended 
to  be  a  roguish  look  and  wink,  but  which  got  no  further 
than  a  leer.  "There  was  some  kind  of  a  curous  ribbon 
and  coral  chain,  with  a  gol-d  badge  or  somepin  of  that 
sort.  Can't  you  show  me  that,  too?  Fact  is — that — well 
Fm  specially  interested  in  sech  things." 

John  started.    What  could  this  fellow  be  after? 

There  must  be  something  behind  this.  He  surely 
didn't  speak  for  himself.  At  least,  he  would  try  him. 
Fixing  his  eyes  keenly  upon  the  turnkey,  he  suddenly, 
inquired.  "Who  got  you  to  ask  this  question?  and  what 
does  he  want?" 

Mr.  Locke  was  taken  aback  by  the  inquiry.  He 
hemmed,  stammered,  and  wiped  the  glossy  boulevard  on 
his  mid-cranium  with  a  red  bandanna  handkerchief,  with 
great  embarrassment,  and  then  apparently  made  up  his 
mind  to  be  confidential. 

"Er — that  is — the  truth  is — however  you  were  smart 
enough  to  see  through  it,  that  a  gentleman  as  has  a  fancy 
for  old  bits  of  jewelry  and  sech  things,  seen  it  on  you  and 
got  interested  in  it.  He  stood  beside  you  w'en  you  halted 
by  the  State  House,  and  had  a  clost  view  of  it,  and  won 
dered  w'ere  you  picked  it  up.  He  called  'round  here  yarly 
this  morning,  and  said  as  how  you  might  be  wantin' 
money;  an'  though  it's  a  good  'eal  more  than  its  wuth,  he 
had  a  ten-dollar  note  for  you,  ef  you  cared  to  sell.  That's 
all  there  is  about  it;  excepen,  of  course,  my  little  com 
mission.  W'ich  gentlemen  willinly  pays  w'en  they  finds 
it  conwenient  to  ne-gotiate  sech  matters." 

"What's  the  man's  name?"  John  asked. 

"Him?  Oh,  he's  no  consequence;  only  an  old  Jew  dealer 
in  jewels  and  diamonds  and  sech  trinkets.  He  mightn't 
care  to  have  his  name  known.  But  w'at  say  you,  sir?  W'at 
would  you  care  to  sell  that  bit  of  finery  for?  It'll  help 
along  amazin'  to  make  things  more  comfortabler  here,  an' 
it's  w'at  gentlemen  allez  does,  sir,  before  they  come  to 
the  end  of  their  terms." 


510  THE    LATIMEKS. 

"No,  thank  you!"  John  replied.  "Fortunately  I'm  not 
in  present  need  of  money;  and  your  friend  must  offer  a 
larger  price  than  you've  named  to  get  what  he  wants." 
This  answer  appearing  to  be  final,  Mr.  Locke  withdrew 
in  his  ponderous  way,  and  locked  the  door  behind  him 
with  a  sounding  snap. 

John  now  opened  his  package.  It  contained  a  bit  of 
Christmas  cake  with  a  sprig  of  holly  on  it.  A  card  lay 
underneath  the  holly,  which  John  eagerly  took  up  and 
read:  "Miss  Oldham  gives  Capt.  Latimer  cordial  Christmas 
greeting  and  wishes  him  a  quick  and  honorable  acquittal." 
A  tide  of  joy  swelled  up  and  filled  his  heart.  He  sat  with 
the  card  in  his  hand,  and  scarcely  moved  for  an  hour  as 
he  thought  and  dreamed  of  liberty  and  love.  At  last  he 
came  to  himself. 

"Fool!"  he  exclaimed;  "to  build  such  castles  in  Spain 
on  so  flimsy  a  foundation  as  a  generous  lady's  simple 
recognition  of  acquaintance,  and  expression  of  her  confi 
dence  in  my  innocence!" 

Nevertheless  his  heart  was  warm  and  happy  all  the 
day  long,  and  the  cell  seemed  bright  with  a  mysterious 
presence.  He  placed  the  Christmas  green  in  his  Virgil, 
just  next  the  spot  where  Gen.  Neville's  pistol  ball  had  been 
stayed.  The  card  he  put  away  in  his  pouch  where  the 
necklace  and  little  baby  slip  lay,  just  over  his  heart. 

Two  days  afterward  the  turnkey  made  John  another 
visit.  He  was  greatly  concerned  about  the  noises  which 
the  lock  and  hinges  of  the  cell  door  made  when  used.  "It's 
an  unbecomin'  racket,"  he  remarked,  in  his  most  unctuous 
tones;  "an'  calkylated  to  shake  the  sensibilities  of  delicate 
nerves.  Many  an  official  in  me  position  wouldn't  think  it 
dignified  to  pay  attention  to  sech  trifles.  But  sir,  me 
theory  is  that  kineness  had  ought  to  be  shown  in  leetle 
things.  If  a  gentlemen  is  so  unfort'nate  as  to  be  confined 
for  a  season,  there's  no  need  to  add  to  their  misfortuns  by 
the  clangin'  of  locks  and  the  creakin'  of  hinges.  Now, 
sir,  maybe  you  don't  mind  it;  you've  got  good  strong 
nerves.  But  I  could  tell  you  of  folks  that  has  bean  under 
me  care  that  were  a'most  distraught  by  the  prison  noises, 
I  remember  one  man," — Thereupon  he  launched  forth 
upon  a  stream  of  talk,  busy  the  while  oiling  and  rubbing 
the  lock  and  hinges,  and  trying  them  until  at  last  they 
moved  to  his  satisfaction. 


THE   LATIMEKS.  5H 

"Now,  le's  try  an  expeeriment!"  said  he,  quite  in  the 
tone  of  a  Franklin,  or  a  scientific  philosopher  of  modern 
days.  "There's  nawthin'  like  expeerimential  conclusions. 
Jes'  you  turn  your  back  toward  the  door,  an'  I'll  turn  the 
lock.  There!  Did  you  hear  it,  sir?  Good!  hardly  noticed 
it  at  all,  you  say?  Ah!  I  thought  so;  that'll  do  finely! 
"Well,  we'll  try  the  hinges,  now.  How  does  it  go,  sir? 
Couldn't  hear  'em  at  all,  hey?  Ha,  ha!  Me  expeeriment's 
bean  a  suckcess.  Now  we'll  have  some  comfort.  And  you'll 
not  be  forever  havin'  creakin'  suggestions  from  lock  an' 
hinges  that  you're  inside  prison  cells." 

"By  the  way,  I've  seed  that  trader  w'at  I  was  talkin' 
about,  the  other  day;  him  as  wanted  to  bargain  for  the 
coral  chain  and  locket.  He  seems  dead  bent  on  gettin'  it 
somehow.  Cur'ous  taste,  that,  some  folks  has,  for  collectin' 
all  sorts  of  rubbish  an'  things.  Wen  it  gits  hold  of  a  man 
there  seems  no  sense  left  in  him.  He  gives  up  his  time  an' 
money  as  free  as  water,  jes'  to  gratify  his  fad.  There's  a 
neighbor  of  mine  w'at's  got  a  craze  on  bugs  and  things  of 
that  sort.  He  goes  chasin'  of  'em  round  the  country  in 
summer  time;  and  in  the  winter  pins  'em  in  boxes.  There 
he'll  set  and  mope  and  mouse,  with  his  nose  over  them 
dead  insecks.  Oncet  he  gits  sot  on  em,  his  wife  can't 
hardly  git  him  to  his  meals.  Faugh!  That's  a  Cur'ous 
fancy.  The  idee  of  a  man  gatherin'  and  keepin'  round 
him  bugs  and  creepin'  creeturs  of  that  sort!  But  everyone 
to  his  taste,  as  the  old  woman  said  when  she  kissed  the  cow. 
Now,  old  jewels  and  sech  is  a  more  reasonabler  fad,  seems 
to  me.  They's  allez  somepin  in  'em  that  one  can  git  out 
agen.  But  w'at  the  old  Jew  trader  can  want  with  your 
chain  passes  me  time  of  day.  Wy,  would  you  believe  it? 
He  told  me  t'other  day  to  ast  you  to  name  your  own  price. 
Annything  short  of  $50  says  he,  an'  I'll  give  it  willin'. 
There!  Wat  do  you  think  of  that?  Shan't  I  tell  him  I 
can  bring  it  to  him,  Cap'en?  Wat  say  you?" 

"That's  several  tifnes  more  than  the  necklace  is  worth, 
I  daresay,"  John  answered.  "But  I  doubt  if  your  friend 
has  money  enough  to  buy  it.  However,  tell  him  to  come 
and  see  me  about  it.  If  ever  I  part  with  it,  I  must  see  and 
know  the  man  who  gets  it." 

"Come  now,  that's  not  final,  is  it?"  asked  Mr.  Locke, 
thrusting  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  coat,  and  sur 
veying  John  with  a  deeply  disappointed  look.  "Be  rea- 


512  THE   LATIMERS. 

sonable,  Cap'en  Latimer.  W'y  it's  most  like  takin'  money 
out  of  me  pocket,  to  say  nawthin'  of  your'n.  Me  com 
mission  on  that  sale  would  'a  ben  nigh  onto  ten  dollars! 
Wat  good  can  an  old  thing  like  that  do  a  man  in  your  suc- 
cumstances?" 

"What  good  can  it  do  your  friend,  Mr.  Locke?"  John 
replied.  "Tell  me  that,  and  maybe  I  can  answer  you?" 

For  several  days  Mr.  Locke  continued  his  attack  on  the 
stubborn  scout,  varying  his  appeals  by  laying  all  sorts  of 
little  pitfalls,  which  he  spread  with  supposed  artfulness  to 
trap  the  unsuspecting  prisoner  into  telling  where  and  how 
he  fell  upon  the  ornament,  and  why  he  valued  it  so  highly. 
At  last,  he  abandoned  the  contest,  and  therewith  many  of 
the  little  liberties  by  which  it  is  possible  for  a  turnkey  to 
add  to  the  comfort  of  a  prisoner,  and  which  during  the 
above  negotiations  had  been  profusely  dispensed. 

One  night,  about  three  weeks  thereafter,  John  was 
roused  from  a  sound  sleep  by  what  seemed  to  him  the  pres 
ence  of  some  one  in  his  room.  The  habits  of  the  scout  at 
once  asserted  themselves.  Hia  senses,  always  acute,  were 
now  alert  and  tensely  strained  for  the  faintest  sound.  The 
night  was  moonless  and  cloudy,  and  not  a  ray  of  light  came 
through  the  little  window  into  the  cell  to  break  its  dark 
ness.  Yet,  surely,  some  one  was  approaching  his  bunk! 

Who — what  could  it?  A  momentary  shiver  passed 
along  his  nerves,  as  he  recalled  the  eerie  tales  that  had 
fallen  upon  the  ears  and  haunted  the  memory  of  his  boy 
hood.  But,  tush !  that  suppressed  breathing  is  human !  No 
ghost  there!  Without  raising  his  head,  he  peered  into  the 
blackness,  and  just  discerned  a  deeper  shadow  than  the 
darkness  around  him  gliding  towards  him. 

"Assassination!"  was  his  first  thought.  "Gracious 
Heavens!  Can  it  be  that  the  Government  means  to  resort 
to  this  Oriental  mode  of  disposing  of  its  prisoners?" 

The  shadow  paused  close  by  the  foot  of  John's  cot.  It 
seemed  to  be  fumbling  with  something  there.  "Ha! 
(thought  John)  that  is  where  I  hang  my  clothes,  over  the 
back  of  the  chair.  It  is  robbery  that  is  intended." 

Fumble — pause!  It  must  be  an  expert  indeed  who  can 
so  nearly  deceive  even  John's  trained  senses.  Fumble — 
pause!  Now  a  faint,  very  faint  clink  as  of  metal  touching 
metal  fell  upon  John's  ear. 

Then  a  deeper  pause  ensued.    Was  the  robber  about  to 


THE   LATIMERS.  513 

retire?  It  must  be  so.  His  back  must  then  be  toward  the 
cot.  Villain!  John's  indignation  was  now  in  full  heat. 
He  noiselessly  slipped  aside  the  blanket  and  raised  himself 
upon  the  bed,  then  with  a  sudden  spring,  like  that  of  a 
panther,  flung  himself  upon  the  retiring  shadow.  It  was  a 
very  solid  phantom  indeed  that  he  grasped,  even  the  portly 
person  of  Mr.  I.  Turner  Locke.  Seizing  both  the  robber's 
arms  with  his  two  hands,  he  pinioned  them  to  his  side  with 
a  vise-like  grip  and  forced  his  body  downward  to  the  floor. 

"Oh-o-o!     Mur— " 

"Silence!"  John  fairly  hissed  into  the  turnkey's  ear, 
for  he  was  mightily  enraged.  The  cry  was  quickly  sup 
pressed.  "Utter  another  sound,  and  I  will  squeeze  the 
life  out  of  you,  you  wretch!  Is  this  the  way  you  guard 
and  protect  your  prisoners?" 

"Ouch!  Mercy!"  wailed  the  turnkey.  "You  have 
broken  me  bones  with  your  awful  grip.  Spare  me,  Cap'en! 

0  me  poor  wife  and  children.    0  me  poor  bones!" 

"Hush,  you  dog!  Why  didn't  you  think  of  that 
before?"  John  exclaimed.  Nevertheless,  he  relaxed  his 
grip;  but  kneeling  on  the  floor  held  the  prostrate  man 
down.  He  resolved  to  keep  him  until  daybreak.  He  bade 
the  fellow  cress  his  arms,  and  guided  by  touch  alone, 
bound  his  wrists  together.  Then  he  ordered  him  to  get 
up,  and  leading  him  to  a  snort  bench  which  served  for  an 
extra  seat,  bade  him  sit  down  with  back  against  the  wall. 

"What  devil's  work  would  you  be  at?"  John  asked, 
when  this  was  done.  "Bobbing  me?  Surely  you  have  a 
safer  way  of  getting  your  prisoners'  money  than  that?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Latimer!  Good  Mr.  Scout,  it  was  not  your 
money,"  the  turnkey  wailed  forth. 

"Not  money!  What  then?  My  medals?  That's  even 
worse, — to  steal  the  badges  of  honor  won  by  a  soldier.  It's 
as  mean  as  stealing  the  coin  off  a  dead  man's  eyes." 

"No,  no!  It  was  not  the  medals,  nuther.  0  goody- 
gracious,  how  my  arms  do  hurt!  It  was  the  coral  chain 
and  locket,  Capt.  Latimer.  That's  w'at  did  all  the  damage. 

1  thought  it  was  in  the  pocket  with  the  others.    I  thought 
I  could  get  it  without  you  a  knowin'  of  it.    An'  you  was 
so  stubborn  about  it!     An'  I  meant  to  give  you  the  heft 
of  the  money, — An'  you'd  'ave  seen  by  'n  by  that  it  was  for 
your  good.   Oh,  I'm  undone!  I'm  lost  and  disgraced  forever. 
Pity,  Pity!    It  was  too  bad  of  you  not  to  sell  it  an'  give  me 

33 


514  THE   LATIMEKS. 

me  commission.  It  was  so!"  He  was  blubbering  like  a 
boy. 

John  had  taken  the  precaution,  after  Locke  was 
fairly  bound,  to  secure  the  key  from  the  outside  of  the 
door,  and  then  close  and  lock  it.  He  had  his  captive 
secure  enough  until  he  could  make  up  his  mind  what  to 
do.  When  the  first  gray  light  of  morning  began  to  steal 
into  the  cell  window,  it  showed  the  turnkey's  lugubrious 
form  seated  on  the  little  bench,  back  to  the  wall,  chin 
fallen  upon  his  breast  until  the  bald  head  pointed  almost 
straight  at  the  observer.  He  was  sound  asleep,  and  vigor 
ously  snoring,  a  performance  which  was  wrought  by  no 
means  in  such  unctuous  tones  as  Mr.  Locke  was  wont  to 
assume  in  conversation.  John  had  decided  on  his  course. 
He  awoke  the  turnkey  and  unbound  his  hands. 

"Locke,"  said  John,  "there's  no  use  preaching  to  you 
on  the  crime  you  have  attempted.  You  are  evidently  an 
old  hand  at  this  business." 

"On  me  honor,  Capt.  Latimer,"  the  turnkey  inter 
rupted,  "I  never  before — " 

"Hush!  Don't  put  a  new  sin  on  your  soul  by  lying. 
It  is  unnecessary.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  release  you, 
and  say  nothing  about  the  matter." 

'May  God  in  Heaven  forever  bless  you!"  the  turnkey 
exclaimed,  his  huge  face  radiant  with  joy. 

"But,"  John  continued,  "I  shall  impose  one  condition." 

"Anything!     Only  name  it,"  was  the  eager  answer. 

"You  promise  that  henceforth  you  will  treat  all  insur 
gent  prisoners  with  respect  and  consideration?" 

"Yes,  yes,  as  God  is  me  Judge,  I'll  do  it!" 

"If  ever  you  fail  to  do  so,  I  shall  disclose  this  night's 
attempt  to  the  United  States  Marshal.  You  note  that, 
and  you  agree,  do  you?" 

"I  do,  I  do  indeed!" 

So  it  was  settled;  and  Mr.  I.  Turner  Locke  proved  true 
to  his  word.  From  that  day  to  the  end,  as  the  prisoners 
met  for  their  daily  exercise  in  the  prison  court,  they  ceased 
to  complain  of  various  petty  anoyances  that  had  embit 
tered  their  first  few  weeks  in  prison.  They  found  they  had 
enough  to  eat  and  drink  from  the  prison  fare,  without 
calling  upon  Mrs.  I.  Turner  Locke  to  furnish  additional 
solids  and  liquids  at  prices  highly  remunerative  to  that 
lady.  How  she  settled  her  losses  with  her  lusty  lord  this 
history  cannot  record.  But  it  is  to  be  feared  that  his  peace 


THE    LATIMERS.  515 

of  mind  was  not  increased  by  the  diminution  of  Madam 
Locke's  profits. 

To  John  Latimer  the  change  was  especially  advanta 
geous.  His  hour  of  exercise  was  never  abridged,  and  an 
extra  stroll  within  the  court  was  often  allowed  when  the 
cell  grew  too  tedious.  A  daily  newspaper  was  permitted 
him,  which  he  circulated  among  his  fellow-prisoners  when 
he  had  read  it.  This,  with  his  Shakespeare  and  Virgil 
and  Bible  gave  much  relief  to  his  imprisonment. 

Indirectly,  the  attempt  of  the  turnkey  impressed  John 
with  a  deeper  sense  of  the  probable  importance  of  his 
infant  belongings  in  discovering  his  parentage.  He  was 
inclined  to  hold  Locke's  Jew  trader  as  a  supposititious 
character.  It  did  not  seem  reasonable  that  a  mere  whim- 
sey  should  have  prompted  so  strong  a  wish  for  possession. 
There  was  something  or  some  one  behind  his  interest, 
which  in  some  way  or  other  might  concern  himself.  The 
mystery  was  impenetrable.  But  the  infant  memorials  were 
guarded  with  greater  care.  The  Bible  was  now  always 
carried  about  his  person,  and  at  night  was  laid  under  his 

?illow.    Often  the  question  reverted:    "Who  am  I?    Shall 
ever  know?"  His  solitary  confinement,  which  turned  the 
mind  upon  itself,  developed  his  interest  in  this  matter  to 
a  degree  that  he  had  never  before  thought  possible. 


CHAPTEE   LIL 

HOW  JOHN  GOT  ON  IN  JAIL. 

With  all  his  privileges,  John  Latimer  was  a  prisoner. 
He  who  had  been  used  to  the  boundless  freedom  of  the 
forests  was  living  in  a  narrow  cell.  He  chafed  in  spirit  and 
walked  back  and  forth  until  he  was  lashed  well  nigh  into 
fury  by  his  thoughts.  He  never  before  understood  the 
feelings  and  movements  of  the  wild  beasts  that  he  had 
once  or  twice  seen  fiercely  pacing  the  floors  of  their  cages, 
weaving  among  their  fellow-prisoners,  and  turning  now 
and  then  to  glare  with  ferocious  green  eyes,  and  to  hiss  or 
growl  or  bay  at  their  gaping  human  visitors.  He  had 
hoped  for  a  speedy  trial,  but  in  this  was  disappointed.  He 
had  hoped  that  he  might  soon  be  released  on  bail,  but  that 


516  THE    LATIMEKS. 

was  denied  him.  He  had  joined  with  several  of  his  asso- 
cates  in  a  petition  to  the  Court  that  they  might  be  tried 
in  the  counties  where  their  offenses  were  alleged  to  have 
been  committed,  so  that  testimony  could  be  more  easily 
obtained.  The  Court  refused  this. 

The  month  of  January,  1795,  saw  six  of  the  prisoners, 
including  Col.  Hamilton,  admitted  to  bail,  and  this  made 
a  large  gap  in  their  ranks.  The  released  went  forth  with 
congratulations  of  their  less  fortunate  comrades.  But 
their  deliverance  emphasized  the  hardships  of  those  who 
remained.  February  was  a  gloomy  month;  March  brought 
three  more  removals,  including  their  "chaplain,"  Mr. 
Corbley;  and  now  the  first  of  April  had  come. 

Four  months'  imprisonment  had  left  their  mark  not 
only  on  John's  spirits,  but  on  his  body.  The  prison  fare 
palled  on  his  appetite.  The  prison  smell,  that  strange 
odor,  unlike  any  other  known,  which  hangs  about  jails  and 
almshouses,  nauseated  him.  He  grew  irritable  and  queru 
lous,  though  he  fought  manfully  against  the  petty  temper. 
Trifles  assumed  the  proportions  of  world  events,  and  unduly 
amused  or  annoyed  him.  He  knew  that  the  horizon  of  his 
manhood  was  narrowing,  while  thought  of  himself  was  dis 
proportionately  expanding.  Not  a  day  passed,  often  not 
an  hour,  without  some  indignant  outbreak  against  himself 
for  his  miserable  pettishness  and  pettiness.  It  seemed  to 
relieve  him  to  pace  the  cell  floor  and  denounce  himself 
with  gritted  teeth  and  clenched  fingers,  and  even  with 
palms  smiting  his  cheek.  Then  he  would  pause  with  the 
cry  in  his  heart:  "Am  I  growing  mad?" 

Then  he  would  throw  himself  upon  his  cot  and  groan, 
and  rebuke  himself  for  his  lack  of  patient  and  manly 
endurance;  and  after  due  self-mortification,  and  resolution 
to  do  better,  would  fall  asleep  and  rise  to  enter  upon  the 
same  struggle.  Truly,  a  barnyard  fowl  may  endure  the 
cage,  but  the  mountain  eagle,  proud  bird!  frets  grievously 
behind  th?  bars. 

Mid-April  came  with  softer  air.  The  voice  of  spring 
called  even  within  the  quadrangular  court  and  the  walls  of 
the  City  Jail.  This  month  was  wont  to  have  a  strong  influ 
ence  on  John  Latimer.  A  yearning  to  be  away,  to  be 
wandering  somewhere  would  seize  and  possess  him.  The 
common  restraints  of  life  irked  him.  The  nomadic  im 
pulse  was  almost  as  resistless  in  his  bosom,  at  such  a  time, 


THE   LATIMEKS.  517 

as  is  the  migratory  instinct  of  fowls.  Nothing  gave  him 
relief  but  a  run  in  the  forests  with  Panther  or  with  his 
father,  or  an  excursion  along  the  river.  The  fresh,  sweet 
smell  of  the  running  water;  the  scent  of  the  forest  mould; 
the  fragrance  of  hemlock  and  pine;  the  returning  activities 
in  the  animal  world  as  the  birds  and  minor  beasts  began 
to  come  forth  and  show  themselves  in  the  sunlight, — these 
all  satisfied  him  and  helped  him  to  a  contented  heart  with 
which  to  return  to  his  duties. 

There  in  the  jail,  the  old  impulse  seized  him,  and  for 
a  little  while  he  raved  and  chafed  in  the  hopelessness  of 
its  gratification.  But,  and  he  wondered  at  himself,  it  soon 
expended  its  fervor.  He  grew  listless.  Indeed,  he  had 
noted  lately  that  he  was  becoming  more  and  more  indiffer 
ent  to  what  might  happen  to  himself  and  his  case.  Was 
he  getting  contented  with  jail  life?  Had  confinement  and 
seclusion  from  his  fellow-men  already  begun  to  deteriorate 
his  manliness?  Would  he  settle  down,  if  this  imprison 
ment  should  be  prolonged,  to  be  as  contented  with  his  cell 
and  its  surroundings  as  his  fellow-tenants,  yonder  spiders? 

Well!  He  had  done  all  he  could  to  get  a  hearing.  He 
believed  that  all  awanting  for  a  complete  vindication  was 
that  he  should  come  before  the  Court.  He  could  prove 
his  innocence  beyond  question.  How  often  had  he 
reasoned  thus!  And  as  often  a  flush  of  indignation  would 
burn  across  his  cheek  at  the  thought  that  it  was  necessary 
for  him,  loyal  friend  of  the  Government  as  he  ever  had 
been,  to  prove  his  innocence.  One  day,  early  in  April,  the 
turnkey  when  he  brought  him  the  daily  papers,  tarried  in 
the  cell,  and  with  a  smirk  upon  his  oleaginous  face,  said 
something  about  John's  power  to  "awaken  an  interest  in 
the  buzzum  of  the  fair  sect." 

John  cast  upon  him  a  look  in  which  disgust  mingled 
with  wonder;  then  turned  to  his  paper  remarking:  "In 
deed?  Upon  my  word,  Locke,  I  think  you  must  be  trying 
the  experiment  of  a  fresh  joke  on  me  this  morning.  In 
truth,  I  relish  your  stale  ones  a  good  deal  better." 

"Truly  not,  Cap'en!  W'y  not  yourself  as  well  as 
others?  Now  I've  often  noticed  that  no  feller  is  so  hard 
down  on  his  luck,  nor  so  low-down  worthless  hisself,  as 
not  to  have  some  woman  or  other  that  dotes  on  him.  They 
hain't  bean  many  women  folk  around  these  insurgents  now, 
I'll  allow.  But  that's  becaze  they're  too  far  away  from 


518  THE   LATIMEES. 

home  belongings.  But  there  was  one  woman  here  yester 
day,  and  a  likely  specimen  she  was,  too !  A  reel  lady,  none 
of  your  made-up  sort!  You  can't  fool  me  on  them  article. 
I  know  true  quality  when  I  see  'em.  An'  she  was  not 
askin'  around  general,  nuther,  but  partic'lar  for  Cap'en 
John  Latimer." 

John  had  already  begun  reading;  but  his  interest  in  the 
"Advertiser"  visibly  diminished  as  Locke  went  on,  and 
when  he  had  finished,  the  paper  lay  upon  his  lap. 

"Yes,  indeed!"  the  turnkey  continued,  seeing  he  had 
won  attention.  "But  excuse  me,  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll 
take  a  seat,  as  I'm  a  leetle  too  hefty  to  hold  up  long  with 
out  settin'  down.  This  lady  insisted  on  goin'  all  round 
the  place  to  see  how  the  prisoners  lived;  and  I  was  proud 
to  show  her  how  comfo'table  and  snug  ev'rything  is." 

"Humph!"  said  John.  "No  doubt  she  must  have  been 
tempted  to  apply  for  lodgings  with  you.  Go  on!" 

"And  this  is  w'ere  they  exercise,  is  it?"  says  she,  as  I 
took  her  to  the  courtyard.  Yes,  says  I,  an'  a  bright,  airy 
place  it  is,  too, — w'en  it's  not  too  crowded,  w'ich  some 
times  it  is,  unfortunate.  But  it's  thinned  out  now;  quite 
comfo'table,  quite  so!  Now,  here's  w'at  the  men  calls  the 
'Scout's  Walk,'  says  I.  You  see  that  figger-of-eight  sort 
of  path,  takin'  in  pretty  much  the  whole  outlines  of  the 
court?  That's  Cap'en  Latimer's  favorite  parade.  Here  he 
starts  in,  and  then  curves  across  cat-a-corner  to  yander 
angle;  and  sweeps  with  a  long  round  turnin'  to  the  next 
corner;  an'  then  cuts  cat-a-corner  acrost  to  this  angle  over 
here,  an'  so  on,  weavin'  in  an'  out  among  the  others,  who 
never  trench  on  his  preserves  w'en  he's  exercisin'.  My! 
How  he  does  swing  to  it!  It  fairly  takes  a  feller's  breath 
even  to  look  at  'im.  He  has  worn  that  track  you  see,  jest 
this  winter,  by  pacin'  and  pacin'  over  it. 

"Now  w'at  do  you  think,  sir?"  the  turnkey  continued. 
"Didn't  the  little  lady  jest  start  in  and  pace  off  that  figger- 
of-eight,  jest  to  see  how  it  goes,  says  she.  And  w'en  she 
got  through,  upon  my  honor,  sir,  I  do  believe  there  was 
tears  in  her  eyes;  though  she  dropped  her  weil,  and  I 
couldn't  be  dead  sure  about  it.  'Could  you  show  me  his 
cell?'  says  she  at  last,  'without  his  knowin'  of  it?'  That  I 
could,  Miss!  says  I,  and  so  I  brought  her  up  to  this  gallery 
and  showed  her  your  cell.  That's  it,  I  whispered,  No.  2, 
second  flight,  and  a  jolly  good  room  it  is,  Miss!  says  I.  She 


THE   LATIMEKS.  519 

passed  by  rapidly,  walking  on  tiptoe  and  hardly  breathing. 
I  can't  take  my  solemn  oath,  to  be  sure,  but  I  ruther  guess 
she  stopped  long  enough  to  peep  into  the  leetle  hand- 
winder.  At  least,  I  did,  sir,  and  there  you  sot  on  your 
bench,  with  your  elbows  on  your  knees,  and  your  cheeks 
restin'  in  your  hands,  starin'  up  at  the  winder  and  watchin' 
the  sunlight  stream  in. 

"As  she  was  leavin',  says  I,  it's  a  fine  man  the  Cap'n 
is,  Miss — ah — Miss  La  tinier?  says  I,  kinder  feelin'  after 
her  name.  I  suppose  he's  a  brother  of  your'n? 

"  'You've  not  guessed  quite  right/  says  she,  with  a 
smile.  Tve  a  good  name  of  my  own;  but  it's  not  Latimer/ 
says  she.  'But  never  mind!  That's  not  a  name  to  be 
ashamed  of;  and  here,  Mr.  Locke/  says  she,  'is  somepin  for 
your  trouble  and  courtesy.  Look  well  after  the  Captain!' 
Hah!  sir!  it  was  a  fair  handful  of  shiners  she  left  me  as  she 
bowed  and  went  away.  No  pusson  ever  tipped  the  rhino 
to  me  quite  that  free  before.  Oh,  she's  a  true  lady!  A  reel 
lady,  sir;  and  I  flatter  meself  I  knows  one  w'en  I  sees  her." 

John  had  little  to  say.  What  could  he  say?  One  form 
rose  before  him  and  filled  his  mind  and  heart — Blanche 
Oldham.  God  bless  her!  Did  she  take  all  that  trouble  for 
him?  He  thought  she  had  forgotten  him.  He  had  not 
heard  a  word  from  her  since  Christmas.  Not  a  word  from 
her  or  hers.  He  had  been  unjust,  unjust!  He  longed  to 
be  alone  that  he  might  keep  this  sacred  vision  to  himself 
untainted  by — .  Yet,  she  had  walked  the  prison  rounds 
with  this  very  fellow!  He  heartily  begrudged  the  oleagi 
nous  rascal  his  good  fortune,  and  disliked  him  more  cor 
dially  for  the  same. 

"Was  there  anything  else?"  John  asked,  as  Locke 
seemed  disposed  to  linger. 

"Yes,  there  was  one  thing  else  the  lady  ast  me.  'Who 
is  the  Captain's  lawyer?'  says  she.  He  hain't  none,  Miss,  I 
answers.  He  won't  have  none;  though  I've  offered  to  send 
him  one  of  the  wery  best  sort  in  the  city;  and  cheap  too; 
and  no  commission  charged.  It's  a  idee  the  Cap'en  has 
that  innocence  is  its  own  defense.  He  means  to  try  his 
own  case.  He  keeps  talkin'  at  me  about  a  feller  bein' 
thrice  armed  whose  cause  is  just,  etcetery.  That  may  have 
been  good  enough  law  in  Shakespeare  or  w'atever  country 
that  is  he  was  talkin'  about,  but  it's  no  go  in  oF  Phila- 
delphy!  I'd  ruther  have  one  good  smart  Philadelphy  lawyer 


520  THE   LATIMEKS. 

an'  a  poor  case,  than  the  best  three  arms  agoin',  and  the 
best  case  besides,  without  any  lawyer." 

"Well,  and  what  did  the  lady  say  to  that?"  John  asked. 

"Wat  did  she  say?  W'y  she  jest  laughed  out  a  bright 
little  laugh,  the  sweetest  tinklin'  laugh,  sir,  you  ever  heerd. 
It  fairly  made  me  fall  in  love  with  her.  'Well!'  says  she, 
'you  jest  ask  Cap'en  Latimer  if  he  ever  heerd  the  old  sayin' 
that  a  man  who  is  his  own  lawyer  has  a  fool  for  a  client?' 
An'  off  she  went,  sir,  laughin'  to  herself  as  she  went  away. 

"That  I  will,  madam,  says  I,  and  thank  you  for  your 
interest  in  the  Cap'en.  He's  a  special  friend  of  mine,  and 
I'd  grieve  hearty  to  see  sech  a  fine  young  fellow  lose  his 
liberty  and  maybe  his  life  jest  on  a  point  like  th^t." 

At  last  the  turnkey  was  gone  and  John  was  left  alone. 
His  eyes  dropped  to  the  paper  upon  his  lap,  and  as  they 
wandered  mechanically  over  the  column,  a  familiar  name 
met  them.  He  seized  the  journal  and  eagerly  read  this 
item  of  news:  "The  Oldham  mansion  on  Arch  Street  is 
once  more  the  point  of  attraction  for  some  of  the  brightest 
ornaments  of  society.  Last  night  a  happy  and  select  com 
pany  met  there  to  give  formal  welcome  to  Miss  Blanche 
Oldham,  who  returned  a  few  days  ago  from  Virginia, 
whither  she  had  gone,  just  after  the  Christmas  holidays, 
to  visit  her  kindred." 

John  started  to  his  feet.  A  coincidence?  It  was  more 
than  that.  It  was  confirmation!  It  was  all  clear  now  to 
his  mind.  Blanche's  long  silence  was  explained.  She  had 
been  away — far  distant  in  Virginia,  and  now,  at  her  first 
opportunity — 

He  grew  dizzy  with  the  sweet  and  wonderful  thought, 
and  sat  down.  The  daily  news  did  not  interest  him  further. 
He  had  something  better  to  think  of.  He  recalled  his  late 
indifference  to  the  issues  of  his  case,  and  to  what  might 
become  of  himself.  He  wondered  that  he  ever  could  have 
felt  that  way.  The  cell  seemed  to  shine  even  in  the  gloom. 
Despondent?  No!  Not  he.  While  there's  life  there's 
hope!  Ay,  John  Latimer,  or  what  is  a  good  deal  more  to 
the  purpose,  while  there's  hope  there's  life.  The  sun  never 
shone  brighter  than  on  that  April  day.  The  prison  cell 
fairly  revelled  in  light,  although  the  only  beam  shone  in 
through  the  little  ventilator  window  far  up  near  the  ceiling 
and  was  broken  by  three  transverse  iron  bars.  Blanche 
Oldham  had  not  forgotten  him!  Blanche  Oldham  had 


THE   LATIMERS.  521 

been  to  see  him!    Could  any  case  be  lost  in  which  she  was 
interested?     Cheer  up,  faint  heart! 

He  took  out  the  bit  of  Christmas  holly,  whose  color  and 
lustre  were  now  nearly  gone,  and  got  Miss  Oldham's 
Christmas  card,  and  put  the  two  together  in  his  Bible,  and 
sat  and  thought  and  remembered  and  dreamed.  So  he 
mused  on  into  the  night,  until  the  sunlight  gave  place  to 
moonlight.  Then  he  lay  down  and  slept  dreamlessly. 


CHAPTEE  LIIL 

MR.  JUSTUS  REID,  ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. 

Two  days  after  this  incident  Mr.  Locke  escorted  into 
John's  cell  a  gentleman  whom  he  announced  as  Mr.  Justus 
Reid,  an  attorney,  "and  one  of  the  wery  best  sort,  Cap'en 
Latimer.  None  of  your  picked-up  tuppenny  shysters." 

"Thank  you,  Locke!"  the  lawyer  returned.  "You 
needn't  wait.  And  see,  please,  that  there's  no  one  loitering 
around  the  gallery  to  disturb  us  or  be  eavesdropping." 

"Oh  yes,  your  worship,  quite  so.  Indeed,  I'll  stay  me- 
self  and  see  that  no  one  comes  near." 

"That  would  be  entirely  too  good  of  you!"  returned 
the  lawyer.  "Can't  think  of  troubling  you,  Locke."  To 
make  sure  that  the  turnkey  did  not  carry  out  his  benevo 
lent  purpose,  Mr.  Eeid  accompanied  him  to  the  door  and 
held  it  ajar  until  Locke's  ponderous  form  had  disappeared 
down  the  gallery  stairs. 

"Old  swindler!"  ejaculated  the  lawyer,  as  he  closed  the 
door.  "And  cute!  He's  the  slipperiest  eel  I  ever  saw. 
And  with  no  more  conscience  than  his  iron  keys.  He  knew 
well  enough  whose  prying  ears  I  dreaded.  If  he  could 
catch  anything  of  your  case,  now,  he  would  tattle  or  sell  it 
to  the  prosecutor,  and  at  the  same  time  squeeze  the  pris 
oner  out  of  his  last  copper  on  pretense  of  helping  on  his 
case.  He  ought  to  have  been  dumped  out  of  here  long  ago. 
We  set  a  man  to  guard  our  prisoners,  but  who  is  to  guard 
the  guards  themselves? — quis  custodial  ipsos  custodes?  I 
hope  now,  Capt.  Latimer,  that  Locke  hasn't  made  a  victim 
of  you?  You  are  such  an  up-and-down  character,!  under 
stand,  and  brought  up  in  the  backwoods,  that  you'd  be  no 
match  for  Locke  unless  forewarned.  Even  then,  I  doubt — " 


522  THE   LATIMERS. 

Thereupon  he  slipped  his  left  hand  within  his  right  and 
drew  it  down  toward  the  finger  ends,  then  reversed  the 
movement  with  the  other  hand,  and  swung  both  open 
palms  away  from  him  toward  the  door.  It  seemed  to  John 
that  he  was  going  through  an  imaginary  process  of  wash 
ing  his  hands  of  the  dismissed  turnkey  and  all  his  works; 
and  he  almost  expected  to  hear  him  exclaim:  "There,  I  am 
done  with  that  fellow!"  This  gesture  he  afterwards  found 
to  be  a  peculiarity  of  Mr.  Reid's,  one  of  the  little  oddities 
that  went  to  make  up  a  most  picturesque  character. 

"However,  I  anticipate.  My  name,  as  you  have  learned, 
is  Justus  Reid,  and  I'm  your  lawyer." 

"I  am  certainly  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance," 
John  replied.  "But  really,  this  is  my  first  intimation  of 
the  fact  you  communicate.  I  beg  an  explanation." 

"Most  assuredly!"  was  the  answer.  "And  meantime, 
with  your  permission,  I'll  take  possession  of  this  chair  and 
table.  There,  we  are  all  ready  for  business  now!"  he  ex 
claimed  in  a  hearty  voice,  as  he  deposited  his  blue  bag  upon 
the  little  prison  table  and  began  taking  out  some  papers. 
"Ah,  what's  this  ?  A  pocket  Virgil,  as  I  live !"  He  picked 
up  the  volume  which  John  had  been  reading  when  he 
entered.  "My  favorite  author,  sir.  Do  you  read  Latin?" 

"Fortunately,  yes !"  John  answered,  amused  at  the  open- 
eyed  wonder  with  which  the  bustling  gentleman  stared  at 
him.  "I  don't  know  how  I  could  have  endured  this  cell, 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  my  Virgil  and  one  or  two  other  books." 

"Well,  well!"  Mr.  Reid  rejoined.  "I  don't  wonder  that 
the  young  woman — .  But  sir,  do  all  our  Western  scouts 
know  Latin?  However,  that's  an  idle  question.  We  must 
to  business.  About  taking  your  case;  that's  the  point  be 
fore  us.  This  is  how  it  came  about.  A  young  lady,  who 
for  some  reason,  which  perhaps  you  best  know,  seems  to  be 
interested  in  you."  Here  the  lawyer  turned  a  quick,  keen 
glance  upon  John,  who,  though  he  tried  to  keep  his  coun 
tenance,  flushed,  and  grew  more  confused  as  his  vexation 
began  to  burn  against  himself  for  his  lack  of  self-control. 

"Ahem!  As  I  was  saying,"  Mr.  Reid  went  on,  "this 
young  lady  called  on  me  and  asked  me  to  undertake  your 
case.  She  stated  it  in  a  wonderfully  sensible  way.  Never 
had  a  client  that  equalled  her.  She'd  make  a  mighty  fine 
lawyer,  that  young  woman  would.  And  sir,  according  to 
her  showing,  no  man  could  have  a  better  case  than  yours. 


THE   LATIMEES.  523 

She  told  me  your  point  of  honor  about  your  innocence 
being  too  transparent  to  question,  and  your  resolve  to  con 
duct  your  own  case,  etc.  That  will  do  very  well,  Capt. 
Latimer,  very  well  indeed — when  we  come  to  the  millen 
nium!  Then,  maybe,  we'll  have  no  need  of  lawyers. 
Though  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  But,  here's  the  point, 
young  man, — quod  lene  notandum, — I  want  you  to  note  it 
well.  It's  not  so  much  the  facts  we  are  looking  at,  as  the 
way  of  getting  the  facts  before  the  Court  and  the  Jury. 
That's  where  the  lawyer  comes  in,  sir.  That's  his  business, 
sir — that  is,  unless  his  client  is  a  rascal,  and  then — mutatis 
mutandis;  his  function  is  to  conceal  the  facts. 

"Now,  sir,  there's  one  very  good  reason  why  you  need 
a  lawyer  to  prosecute  your  case.  Unfortunately,  you  are  in 
jail.  It's  all  wrong,  we  know,  sir,  you  and  I,  but  there 
you  are!  Facts  are  stubborn  things,  especially  when 
they're  shut  in  between  iron  doors  and  double  locked. 
You  are  not  free  to  move  about,  and  get  evidence,  and  do 
divers  and  sundry  things  needful  to  put  your  innocence 
before  a  jury  and  bring  conviction  to  the  public. 

"Moreover,  sir,  proceedings  at  law  have  their  own  pecu 
liarities.  They  are  like  a  forest,  sir,  and  they  need  a 
trained  guide.  They  are  like  an  ocean,  sir,  and  they  need 
an  experienced  pilot.  Because  a  sea  captain  could  sail  my 
ship  across  the  ocean,  do  you  think  I  would  trust  him  to 
lead  me  through  the  Ohio  woods?  No  sir,  I  would  call 
on  Capt.  Latimer  the  scout.  Now,  sir,  in  these  legal  affairs 
a  lawyer  is  precisely  what  a  navigator  is  to  the  ocean,  or  a 
scout  to  the  forest.  Do  you  see  that,  sir?  I  am  sure  you 
do.  It  is  too  reasonable  for  you  not  to  see,  if  you  are  gifted 
with  the  common  sense  your  young  lady  friend  fancies  you 
possess."  Here  Mr.  Reid  paused  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  John 
for  a  moment,  then  closed  them  and  waited  for  his  decis 
ion,  drumming  the  while  upon  the  table-top  with  his 
finger-ends  a  lively  tune  which  he  seemed  to  be  whistling 
within  himself. 

John  meditated.  He  was  indeed  convinced.  Yet  there 
remained  that  bit  of  pride  of  opinion  which  has  so  often 
to  be  overcome  before  honest  judgment  can  have  sway. 
If  the  truth  were  told,  he  was  thinking  of  Blanche  Old- 
ham,  and  how  she  might  be  grieved  if  he  thwarted  her 
plans  in  his  behalf.  That  turned  the  scale.  He  looked  up 
and  fixed  his  clear  blue  eyes  on  the  lawyer. 


524  THE   LATIMERS. 

"I  must  yield  my  judgment,  I  see.  No  doubt  you  are 
right,  sir.  But  one  matter  must  be  settled  before  we  go 
further.  Gentlemen  of  your  profession  are  not  apt  to 
spend  their  strength  for  naught/  I  can  never  consent  to 
have  any  unknown  friend  take  the  financial  responsibility 
of  my  case.  Yet,  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  can  pay  you  but 
little,  at  least  at  present." 

"Young  man!"  said  the  lawyer,  and  he  spoke  now  in  a 
deeper  tone  of  voice,  and  with  great  earnestness  and 
feeling,  dropping  the  brisk,  business-like  manner  that 
he  had  heretofore  shown.  "You  make  the  mistake  of 
the  vulgar  multitude  concerning  our  profession.  There 
are  black  sheep  in  all  flocks;  even  in  the  most  sacred  call 
ing.  But  Society  and  Civilization  and  Liberty  owe  more 
to  the  self-denying  fidelity  and  the  unremunerated  services 
of  lawyers,  sir,  than  to  any  other  class  of  men.  That's 
history!"  Thereupon,  he  brought  his  closed  fist  down 
emphatically  upon  the  table. 

"Moreover,"  he  resumed,  "there's  no  part  that  the  true 
lawyer  more  willingly  and  freely  assumes  than  that  of 
vindex  injurice — the  avenger  of  wrong,  sir.  The  amount 
of  unpaid  advice  and  service,  and  the  generous,  yes,  chival 
rous  aid  given  to  the  most  unfortunate  class  of  men  and 
women  in  the  world  by  lawyers, — ay,  by  lawyers,  sir!  is  not 
exceeded  in  value,  tried  by  any  standard  whatsoever,  by 
the  contributions  of  any  profession  or  calling,  learned  or 
unlearned.  And  that," — here  Mr.  Eeid  brought  the  palm 
of  his  hand  down  upon  the  table  with  a  sounding  smack, 
— "that,  sir,  is  experience  and  observation! 

"But  excuse  me,  Capt.  Latimer.  That's  not  business! 
You  are  quite  right,  sir.  I  appreciate  your  feelings,  and 
assure  you  on  my  honor  that  your  unknown  lady  friend 
has  not  paid,  and  will  not  pay  me  a  cent.  But  sir,  you  have 
a  mother,  who  is  both  able  and  willing;  and  she  has  com 
municated  her  wishes  and  anxieties  to  this  young  woman. 
The  latter  simply  represents  the  former,  as  I  understand 
it,  though  she  is  deeply  interested  in  your  case  herself. 
Now,  Capt.  Latimer,  you're  not  of  the  calibre  I  take  you 
to  be,  if  on  a  mere  question  of  personal  pride,  or  propriety, 
you  are  prepared  to  resist  the  lawful  wish  of  a  loving 
parent,  and  lay  great  disappointment  and  the  possibility 
of  a  great  sorrow  on  her  heart.  But,  sir,  if  that  does  not 
satisfy  you,  I  agree  to  take  the  case, — though  it  is  not  our 


THE   LATIMEBS.  525 

custom,  sir,  I  assure  you,  quite  the  reverse — and  leave  the 
question  of  fee  to  yourself  and  the  future.  Are  you  con 
tent?  Shall  we  go  on,  sir?" 

John  felt  himself  disarmed.  He  had  been  met  at  every 
point  and  vanquished.  His  vision  of  injured  innocence  as 
its  own  defense,  and  of  himself  standing  alone  (not  with 
out  public  applause,  perhaps,  in  the  outcome)  as  Self- 
Vindicator  of  his  injured  honor  and  loyalty,  suddenly  dis 
solved  into  mist.  Nothing  remained  but  to  give  his  assent, 
and  this  he  did  in  a  hearty,  manly  way. 

"Wisely  decided,  young  man!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Justus 
Eeid.  "Wisely  done,  every  way.  We  can  always  trust 
ourselves  to  our  mother's  hand.  The  old  law  maxim  is 
never  so  satisfactory  for  one  as  when  it  relates  to  his 
mother,  sir: — qui  facit  per  alium  facit  per  se.  Yes,  yes,  he 
is  well  represented  whom  his  mother  represents.  Ah  me!" 
A  cloud  fell  upon  the  bright  face.  A  vision  of  his  own 
mother  had  for  a  moment  flitted  across  his  papers.  He 
dismissed  the  thought  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "More 
over,  sir/'  he  continued,  "it  is  not  unworthy  of  your  valor 
to  consult  the  wisdom  of  the  law;  just  as  letters  and  art 
and  jurisprudence  have  to  admit  their  dependence,  at 
times,  upon  the  stalwart  strength  and  courage  of  our  sol 
diery.  Tarn  Marte  quam  Minerve!  We  cannot  dispense 
at  present  with  either  Mars  or  Minerva,  war  or  wisdom." 

Then  followed  question  after  question  in  such  rapid 
succession,  and  with  such  keen  discernment  of  the  merits 
of  the  testimony,  that  John  had  soon  unbosomed  himself 
of  all  matters  pertinent  to  his  case,  and  of  much  besides. 
His  admiration  of  the  little  lawyer,  for  he  seemed  small  in 
comparison  with  himself,  though  a  good  five  feet  six  inches 
high,  increased  with  every  moment.  The  favorable  impres 
sion  was  due  not  only  to  his  questions,  but  to  his  pithy 
comments  upon  the  answers,  and  the  racy  observations 
that  he  dropped  as  he  ran  on,  rapidly  and  clearly  taking 
notes  of  the  evidence,  with  a  mind  apparently  quite  free 
for  other  subjects.' 

The  good  opinion  was  mutual.  John  was  hardly  con 
scious  of  the  process  by  which  the  adroit,  experienced 
attorney  was  deftly  testing  and  sifting  both  his  testimony 
and  himself.  But  the  residuum  was  highly  satisfactory. 
"He  rings  true!  True  gold!"  soliloquized  Mr.  Eeid  in 
wardly.  "No  base  coin  here!  An  admirable  fellow!"  So 


526  THE    LATIMEKS. 

the  little  bustling  gentleman  communed  within  himself, 
and  his  zeal  for  his  case  and  his  determination  to'  win  it 
grew  proportionately.  No  doubt,,  he  would  have  tried  to 
do  his  best  had  it  been  otherwise.  Yet  who  can  escape  from 
the  inward  trammels  by  which  one's  selfhood  is  condi 
tioned,  and  throw  his  very  best  into  a  cause  which  he  knows 
to  be  unjust  and  untrue? 

At  last  Mr.  Justus  Eeid  was  satisfied,  and  rose  to  ar 
range  his  notes  and  gather  his  papers  together.  There  was 
only  one  point  on  which  he  had  seriously  differed  with  his 
client.  John  wanted  Andy  Burbeck  summoned  as  a  wit 
ness.  In  giving  his  reasons,  and  especially  when  relating 
how  Andy  had  been  with  him  at  Bower  Hill,  the  lawyer 
shook  his  head. 

"Too  many  suspicious  situations  there,  Capt.  La  timer! 
In  the  hands  of  a  skillful  cross-questioner  like  Mr.  Eawle, 
he  would  damage  our  case,  I  fear,  more  than  he  would  help 
it.  Unless  he  is  a  most  extraordinarily  cautious  witness! 
And  by  all  I  learn  from  you,  he's  anything  but  that.  Too 
garrulous,  too  garrulous,  I  fear!  Steer  clear  of  a  gabby 
witness,  Captain.  I  prefer  him  on  the  other  side,  on  the 
other  side.  He's  spoiled  many  a  good  case  for  me.  Vir 
sapit  qui  pauca  loquitur, — he  speaks  wisely  who  speaks 
briefly.  Excuse  me,  Capt.  Latimer,  for  translating  my  quo 
tation.  No  detriment  to  your  learning  intended,  sir.  A 
bad  habit  got  by  addressing  juries.  Jurors  like  a  bit  of 
Latin  tipped  to  them  now  and  then.  It  compliments  their 
intelligence  and  seems  to  put  them  on  an  equality  with  the 
learned.  A  subtle  kind  of  flattery,  sir!  But  you  must 
always  delicately  introduce  a  translation,  sir,  or  you'll  spoil 
it  all.  Jurors  want  to  know  what  you  say.  It  frets  'em  to 
leave  'em  in  ignorance. 

"But,  you  may  be  right  as  to  your  friend  Burbeck. 
I'll  think  of  it,  and  consult  our  unknown  agent,  sir,  our 
lady  friend.  Let  me  see,  I  have  her  address  here!"  Pull 
ing  out  his  notebook,  he  ran  down  the  memoranda.  "The 
Indian  Queen  Tavern — tush!  That's  the  Hibernian  So 
ciety  dinner.  The  American  Philosophical  Society, — 
pshaw!  That's  a  paper  by  Priestley.  Executive  Mansion, 
— tut,  tut!  That's  one  of  Lady  Washington's  drawing 
rooms.  Ah,  here  it  is, — Arch,  corner  Fourth.  Just  so!" 
He  put  his  notebook  into  his  pocket,  thrust  his  papers  into 
his  bag  and  turned  to  bid  John  good  bye. 


THE    LATIMERS.  527 

"I  will  call  in  a  day  or  two,  Capt.  Latimer,  when  I've 
gone  over  my  notes  more  carefully.  Then  we'll  talk  about 
some  special  points  that  I've  noted.  Cheer  up,  Captain! 
Fortes  fortuna  juvat! — Fortune  favors  the  brave,  sir.  And 
besides,  you've  got  a  case  that's  sure  to  win.  But,  look  out 
for  that  man  Locke !  Not  a  word  of  our  case  to  him,  mind 
you!  No  confidences  with  that  old  squeeze!  Silentium 
altum,  sir — deep,  deep  silence;  deep  as  the  sea!  Oh,  he's  a 
character!  You  don't  know  him,  sir,  or  you  wouldn't  mar 
vel  at  my  caution/' 

"Come,  come,  Mr.  Reid!"  John  replied  pleasantly.  "I 
am  not  quite  so  green  as  you  fancy.  I  suspect  I  could  give 
you  some  pointers  about  the  turnkey  that  you  don't  even 
dream  of.  I  haven't  spent  a  part  of  my  life  in  tracking 
the  trails  and  circumventing  the  wiles  of  Indians  on  our 
frontier,  to  be  altogether  at  a  disadvantage  among  the 
official  savages  of  Philadelphia." 

"You  don't  say?  Bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Eeid 
with  a  mixture  of  surprise  and  incredulity.  "I'm  truly 
glad  to  hear  it,  sir.  You  have  had  experiences,  hey?  Well, 
well!  But  I  can't  stop  to  hear.  It  is  now  time  our  portly 
Cerberus  had  come.  I  told  him  to  be  back  in  two  hours, 
and  it  is  now  ten  minutes  past  the  time."  The  lawyer 
looked  uneasily  at  his  watch. 

"You  needn't  wait  for  the  turnkey,  if  that's  all  that 
detains  you,"  said  John  walking  to  the  door  and  quietly 
opening  it.  "Come;  I  will  escort  you  to  the  court." 

Mr.  Reid  looked  on  with  blank  amazement  at  this  pro 
ceeding.  John  smiled  mysteriously.  "Perhaps,"  he  con 
tinued,  "you  did  not  observe  that  when  the  turnkey  left, 
he  quite  forgot  to  lock  the  door.  In  fact,  you  didn't  give 
him  time  to  do  it.  He  was  very  much  agitated.  Perhaps 
you  observed  that  also?" 

"No,  no!"  broke  in  the  lawyer,  "I  observed  nothing. 
I  haven't  your  keen  eyes.  Ah,  a  summer  at  scouting  would 
be  fine  training  for  a  lawyer,  I  see." 

"Well,"  said  John,  "whether  you  observed  it  or  not,  a 
signal  passed  between  us,  which  was  meant  to  soothe  the 
turnkey's  agitation.  Probably  you  heard  me  say,  'It's  all 
safe,  Locke;  you  can  trust  me/  y: 

"Ye-es,  I  did,  now  that  you  speak  of  it.  And  thought 
it  curious,  too,  at  the  time.  But  I  couldn't  imagine  what 
you  meant,  in  fact  didn't  try." 


528  THE   LATIMERS. 

"Just  this;  he  was  a  little  uneasy  at  having  me  closeted 
with  a  lawyer.  Do  you  take  the  scent,  sir?" 

"Whe-ew!"  Mr.  Reid  issued  a  prolonged  whistle.  "But 
come  now,"  he  continued,  as  John  threw  open  the  door 
and  followed  him  into  the  hall.  "Isn't  this  rather  too  much 
of  a  good  thing?  You  don't  mean  that  you  can  walk  out 
that  way,  and  I.  Turner  Locke  not  call  you  to  account  for 
it?  Well;  I  will  have  to  learn  your  secret  some  day.  You 
must  have  tipped  the  teaster  with  a  vengeance,  young 
man." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  John  smilingly,  as  he  walked  along  the 
gallery.  "There  is  something  better,  at  least  more  forceful 
even  than  the  argumentum  ad  crumenam  with  turnkeys  of 
the  Locke  school." 

"Impossible!"  ejaculated  the  lawyer.  "The  argument 
of  tips  and  bribes  is  supreme  with  those  fellows.  What  can 
exceed  it,  sir?" 

"Argumentum  ad  leculinum — club  law,  sir!"  John 
responded.  "But,  we  are  at  the  court;  and  here  is  the 
turnkey  to  escort  you  to  the  gate.  Mr.  Locke,  if  you  have 
no  objection,  Fll  take  a  little  fresh  air  before  I  go  back. 
And  maybe  you  will  join  me  in  the  court  by  and  by." 

"Certainly,  Capt.  Latimer,  certainly!  With  great  pleas 
ure!"  The  turnkey  bowed  graciously  to  the  lawyer,  but 
even  more  graciously  to  John.  He  conducted  Mr.  Reid 
to  the  gate  and  dismissed  him  in  a  state  of  mind  as  near 
wonder  as  he  ever  allowed  himself  to  attain. 

"An  inexperienced  young  man,  forsooth!"  he  muttered. 
"Learned  in  forest  lore,  but  ignorant  of  the  snares  and 
wiles  of  designing  men!7  So  my  young  lady  client  denned 
this  stalwart  scout.  Whe-ew!  Credat  Judea  Appella!" 
Softly  whistling  "Hail  Columbia,"  Mr.  Reid  walked  down 
the  street,  hugging  his  blue  bag  underneath  his  arm. 

As  to  John,  hope  had  risen  high  in  his  bosom.  But  the 
one  thing  that  clung  to  him  most  tenaciously,  and  over 
which  he  brooded  most  lovingly,  was  the  address  of  his 
unknown  young  lady  friend,  inadvertently  made  known 
by  the  lawyer.  He  smiled  within  himself  at  the  thought 
that,  with  all  the  astute  attorney's  endeavors  to  conceal  the 
name  of  his  client,  and  her  own  attempts  to  cover  up  her 
'trail,  he  had  nevertheless  been  so  easily  able  to  reach  the 
facts.  "Corner  Fourth  and  Arch!"  he  murmured.  Well 
he  knew  that  address,  for  during  Blanche  Oldham's  visits 


THE   LATIMERS.  529 

West,  her  home  had  often  been  described  in  her  talks  with 
Fanny  McCormack  and  himself.  He  had  several  times 
carried  homebound  letters  for  Blanche,  to  be  mailed  at 
Pittsburg,  superscribed  "Fourth  and  Arch."  Was  it  not 
there  that  he — not  thinking  and  indeed  not  then  knowing 
where  he  was — came  across  her  when  undergoing  that 
humiliating  march  through  the  streets  of  Philadelphia? 
Was  it  not  from  that  house  that  he  received  the  generous 
greeting  which  had  warmed  his  heart  for  many  a  day? 
There  had  been  hardly  a  doubt  before  as  to  the  identity  of 
his  young  lady  friend.  The  matter  was  now  placed  within 
the  realm  of  absolute  fact. 

Presently  the  turnkey  came  up  to  John,  as  he  was  strid 
ing  back  and  forth  along  his  favorite  figure-of-eight  walk 
in  the  court,  and  received  assurance  that  not  a  word  of  the 
mysterious  night's  adventure  had  been  communicated  to 
Mr.  Justus  Reid.  There  were,  therefore,  at  least  two  per 
sons  that  night,  wihin  the  bounds  of  the  city  jail  who  had 
untroubled  sleep:  John  Latimer  who  was  soothed  by  love 
and  hope,  and  I.  Turner  Locke  whose  craven  fears  were 
quieted. 


CHAPTER   LIV. 

JOHN  LATIMER   STANDS   HIS   TRIAL. 

Mr.  Justus  Reid  as  he  walked  along  Fourth  Street  from 
Arch  toward  Spruce  Street  where  he  lived,  differed  little 
in  appearance  from  Mr.  Justus  Reid  closeted  in  the  City 
Jail  with  John  Latimer.  He  was  -in  evening  dress,  and 
although  the  night  was  cool,  was  without  a  top  coat,  which 
under  no  stress  of  weather,  even  in  midwinter,  would  he 
consent  to  wear.  Except  in  the  fineness  of  texture  of  coat 
and  small  clothes,  and  greater  smartness  of  the  hat,  and 
the  addition  of  gloves  and  a  cane,  he  was  dressed  as  his 
friends  and  the  public  always  saw  him.  A  continental  coat 
of  black  cloth  with  a  velvet  collar;  long  buff  waistcoat,  buff 
breeches  clasped  to  gray  silk  stockings  by  massive  silver 
buckles,  ruffled  shirt  front  and  ruffled  cuffs, — such  was 
Justus  Reid,  Esq.,  as  to  the  outward  man.  In  the  office, 
in  the  court,  on  the  street,  in  the  drawing-room,  in  his 
high-backed  pew  on  Sunday  in  Old  Pine  Street  Presbyte- 
34 


530  THE  LATIMEES. 

rian  Church,  his  dress  was  always  the  same.  His  cuffs  and 
ruffles  were  immaculately  laundered,  and  were  kept  spot 
less  under  all  conditions.  No  one  ever  saw  them  soiled  or 
even  rumpled,  though  he  took  snuff  in  a  moderate  way, 
rather  as  an  aid  to  conversation  and  an  adjunct  to  his 
profession  than  for  the  satisfaction  thereof.  Yet  he  never 
seemed  to  be  looking  after  his  clothes,  nor  to  care  espe 
cially  for  dress,  and  was  not  in  the  least  dandified.  He 
simply  had  the  faculty  possessed  by  so  many  women,  and 
by  all  insects,  of  moving  freely  through  all  sorts  of  litter 
without  taking  the  least  ruffle  or  stain. 

He  had  the  habit  of  softly  whistling  some  lively  air  as 
he  wrought  at  his  papers  or  walked  the  streets,  and  its 
measure  was  never  quickened  by  success  nor  retarded  by 
trouble  and  failure.  Whether  or  not,  therefore,  the  inter 
view  in  the  Oldham  mansion  was  satisfactory,  could  not  be 
determined  by  Mr.  Reid's  manner.  Business  was  business. 
It  belonged  to  a  separate  sphere  of  life,  and  he  had  the 
power  of  completely  isolating  it  from  all  other  affairs. 
When  he  left  his  office  at  night  he  locked  up  his  law  cases 
in  certain  brain  cells,  much  as  a  prison  turnkey  does  his 
prisoners.  There  they  stayed  until  he  turned  his  key  in  the 
morning,  or  at  other  convenient  time,  and  bade  them  come 
out,  which  they  did  along  with  his  blue  bag,  quill  pens  and 
ink  horn.  He  was  a  happy  man  in  this  and  most  other 
respects,  including  his  home  relations.  Howbeit,  the 
rumor  sped  that  his  wife,  who  was  a  roly-poly  domestic 
body,  whose  whole  life  energy  was  consumed  in  taking  care 
of  her  house  and  husband  (they  having  no  children),  was 
occasionally  inclined  to  conversation  that  smacked  some 
what  more  of  high  temper  than  of  high  learning  or  high 
breeding. 

However,  we  are  wandering,  our  only  excuse  therefor 
being  that  we  are  following  the  example  of  Justus  Reid, 
Esq.,  as  he  sauntered  toward  his  big,  old-fashioned  house 
on  Spruce  Street.  That  worthy  had  scarcely  reached  his 
residence  ere  his  lady  client  had  written  and  sealed  a  note 
whose  preparation,  judging  by  the  play  of  her  countenance, 
seemed  to  give  her  equal  perplexity  and  pleasure.  It  may 
have  only  been  a  coincidence,  but  the  next  morning  Mr. 
Prosecutor  Rawle  had  a  consultation  with  his  associate 
counsel  Mr.  Wm.  Bradford  over  matters  suggested  in  the 
following  letter: 


THE   LATIMEKS.  531 

DEAR  SIR: — The  writer  has  reason  to  believe  that  a 
certain  Andrew  Burbeck  of  Washington  County,  Pennsyl 
vania,  has  valuable  information  bearing  on  the  case  of  Capt. 
John  Latimer,  now  under  trial  for  treason.  The  said  Bur- 
beck  is  commonly  engaged  in  Pittsburg  in  conducting  a 
ferry  across  the  Monongahela  River.  It  so  happens  that 
the  undersigned  knows  that  the  attorney  for  the  defendant 
has  refused  to  summon  the  above-named  Burbeck  as  a  wit 
ness  on  account  of  sundry  compromising  situations  in 
which  he  saw  Capt.  Latimer. 

I  have  the  honor  to  be, 

A  FRIEND  OF  JUSTICE  AND  THE  GOVERNMENT. 
Phila.,  April  the  3d,  1795. 

"A  lady's  letter  that,  I  take  it,"  said  Mr.  Bradford. 

"A  lady's  handwriting,  at  least,"  Mr.  Eawle  replied, 
"although  the  script  is  boldly  writ.  Yet  the  language  is 
not  at  all  feminine.  A  gentleman's  dictation  and  a  lady's 
writing,  I  fancy.  But  the  hint  is  worth  considering.  We 
will  need  all  the  evidence  we  can  get  in  this  case.  What 
would  you  suggest,  sir?" 

Leaving  the  learned  counsellors  to  their  deliberations, 
we  return  to  John  Latimer.  He  had  still  much  to  learn  of 
the  tedious  and  perverse  course  of  justice.  His  patience 
was  sorely  taxed  by  the  frequent  postponements  of  the  day 
for  his  trial.  April  passed  and  May  day  came,  and  still  he 
was  in  jail.  The  first  two  weeks  of  May  brought  to  trial 
another  instalment  of  the  insurgents,  of  whom  all  were 
acquitted.  At  last  the  day  for  John's  trial  was  fixed,  the 
18th  of  May.  He  dressed  himself  with  unusual  care,  but 
held  to  the  scout's  uniform.  That  seemed  to  him  a  mute 
witness  of  fidelity  to  his  country  and  of  honorable  service 
in  her  behalf,  most  fitting  for  one  in  his  position.  In  the 
same  spirit  he  put  upon  his  breast  his  medals  of  merit. 
His  rough  shoes  and  leggings  he  laid  aside,  and  donned  a 
new  pair  of  beautifully  beaded  moccasins,  a  gift  from 
Featherfoot.  The  long  shanks  came  well  up  the  calves  of 
the  leg,  which  were  covered  with  white  ribbed  wool  stock 
ings,  his  mother's  gift  and  knitting;  and  these  were  fastened 
at  the  knees  with  whangs  of  deer-skin.  His  broad  leathern 
belt,  Panther's  gift,  was  ornamented  with  beaded  edging, 
and  like  the  knee  breeches  was  fastened  with  whangs  in 
lieu  of  a  buckle. 

He  longed  to  swing  his  woodman's  hatchet  in  its  loop 


532  THE   LATIMERS. 

at  his  belt,  but  neither  that  nor  the  hunting  knife  would 
the  sheriff  permit;  and  John  admitted  the  impropriety  of 
a  prisoner  going  into  court  bearing  deadly  weapons.  Yet 
his  pouch  and  powder  horn  he  hung  over  his  shoulder, 
and  this  was  allowed,  seeing  that  the  horn  was  empty. 
These  were  the  gift  of  his  "sister  Fanny,"  and  he  was 
gratified  at  permission  to  wear  them,  for  they  com 
pleted  the  armor  of  love  and  friendship  with  which  he 
fancied  himself  to  be  girded,  as  he  went  forth  to  the  ordeal 
on  which  his  future  depended.  All  his  dearest  ones  were 
represented  in  his  uniform,  for  the  coat  was  his  father's 
gift,  the  cap  was  Andy's,  and  the  long  necklace  of  buckeye 
nuts  alternated  with  claws  and  teeth  of  wild  animals, 
thrown  across  his  left  shoulder  as  a  brace  to  his  knife 
sheath,  was  a  present  from  Meg.  A  barbaric  sort  of  orna 
ment  this,  no  doubt,  but  it  suited  John's  purpose  and  it 
was  Meg's  gift.  And  Blanche  Oldham?  Ay,  she  too  should 
have  a  place!  Where  the  eagle's  feather  was  looped  upon 
his  coon-skin  cap  he  fastened  the  little  bow  of  azure  ribbon 
that  had  come  from  her  with  the  Christmas  holly. 

Thus  accoutred,  he  passed  the  inspection  of  even  Mr. 
Justus  Keid,  who  greatly  valued  the  effect  of  external 
appearance  upon  a  jury.  "Sentiment  rules  one-third  of 
the  world,"  he  remarked  sententiously.  "And  that  third 
rules  another  third.  Of  the  remainder,  a  good  moiety  go 
by  blind  chance,  and  the  rest  are  swayed  by  reason,  by 
passion,  by  bribery  and  by  bigotry  in  varying  measures." 

It  was  a  bright  day  in  the  old  Capital,  which  never 
looks  fairer  than  in  the  month  of  May.  John  felt  like  a 
new  being  to  get  beyond  the  prison  walls,  even  for  the 
short  walk  around  the  corner  of  Independence  Square  to 
the  City  Hall.  How  balmy  the  air!  How  blithe  the  carols 
of  the  birds,  basking  freely  in  the  sunlight  and  singing 
their  songs  of  love  and  liberty!  He  expanded  his  lungs 
and  filled  them  with  the  delicious  atmosphere,  perfumed 
with  May  blossoms  and  with  the  odor  of  lilacs,  whose 
homely  bushes  showed  their  purple  blooms  in  a  spacious 
yard  hard  by.  Yet  in  the  midst  of  his  joy,  his  heart  grew 
suddenly  sick,  and  his  cheek  took  a  paler  hue  as  the  fear 
arose  within  him  that  he  might  lose  his  suit  and  be  sent 
back  from  all  this  brightness  and  sweetness  to  his  cell. 

At  the  period  of  which  we  write,  and  until  A.  D.  1800, 


THE   LATIMERS.  533 

the  United  States  Circuit  Court  for  the  District  of  Penn 
sylvania  held  its  sittings  in  the  second-story  room  of  the 
City  Hall,  at  the  southwest  corner  of  Fifth  and  Chestnut 
Streets.  To  Philadelphians  of  this  generation  the  room 
was  known  as  the  Mayor's  Office  until,  a  few  years  ago,  the 
municipal  offices  were  removed  to  the  present  ornate 
Public  Buildings  on  Penn  Square. 

John  was  placed  in  the  prisoner's  box  or  "bar"  with 
several  others  arraigned  for  like  offence.  The  public  seats 
were  all  occupied,  and  a  buzz  of  interest  stirred  the  audi 
ence  as  John  entered.  His  tall  and  shapely  form  and 
picturesque  uniform  attracted  all  eyes.  He  was  embar 
rassed  by  this  notoriety,  and  felt  relieved  when  the  crier 
called  the  Court  to  order.  Justice  Patterson  presided,  and 
was  supported  by  Judge  Peters  who  had  accompanied  the 
Western  Army  to  the  Monongahela  as  a  representative  of 
the  judiciary.  The  morning  hour  was  largely  consumed 
in  discussing  a  point  of  law.  An  Act  of  Congress  required 
that  a  person  charged  with  treason  should  have  delivered 
to  him  a  copy  of  the  indictment  and  a  list  of  the  jury  and 
witnesses,  with  their  abodes,  at  least  three  entire  days 
before  the  trial.  This  requirement  had  been  omitted  or 
only  partly  attended  to  in  the  cases  of  the  insurgents,  and 
the  question  was  argued  before  the  Court  whether  the 
trials  could  go  on. 

The  Judges  held  that  the  errors  in  notification  must  be 
amended  in  the  respects  indicated,  and  that  three  days 
must  elapse  after  such  amendment  before  trial.  But  John 
Latimer  waived  the  right  of  notification  in  his  own  case, 
and  urged  that  his  trial  proceed,  in  which  position  Mr. 
Justus  Eeid  cordially  acquiesced.  As  the  witnesses  were 
present,  many  of  them  from  a  distance  and  at  great  incon 
venience,  and  as  all  parties  were  quite  agreed,  the  case  was 
called.  A  number  of  witnesses  were  examined,  with  only 
one  or  two  of  whom  this  story  is  concerned. 

"Call  Andrew  Burbeck!"  said  Prosecutor  Rawle. 

Mr.  Justus  Reid  gave  a  slight  start  at  the  name,  just 
a  slight  betrayal  of  uneasiness  mingled  with  a  bit  of  self- 
satisfaction  at  his  shrewdness  in  discerning  that  this  wit 
ness  would  not  be  a  helpful  one  for  the  defense.  He 
glanced  at  his  client,  and  gave  a  little  nod  as  much  as  to 
say  "I  told  you  so!" 

John  Latimer  was  somewhat  discomposed  at  the  first 


534  THE   LATIMEKS. 

intimation  that  his  old  friend  was  to  be  a  witness  against 
him.  But  his  face  at  once  cleared  up  as  he  saw  the  genuine 
pleasure  with  which  Andy  greeted  him.  Indeed  that  per 
son  seemed  to  have  no  thought  of  court  or  jury,  or  of 
anything  else  but  the  satisfaction  of  once  more  seeing  his 
friend.  He  would  have  gone  straight  up  to  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar  and  shook  hands  with  him,  had  not  the  tipstaff 
sharply  reminded  him  of  the  august  presence  in  which  he 
stood,  and  led  him  to  the  witness  stand. 

"Do  you  swear  or  affirm?"  asked  the  clerk. 

"A'  swear,  sir!  A'  consated  that  affirmin'  was  for 
Quakers;  an'  A'm  not  of  that  persuasion,  sir." 

"Manifestly  not!"  said  Mr.  Eawle,  with  a  smile. 
"Hand  the  witness  the  Bible,  Mr.  Clerk." 

"If  your  warship  plaze,"  said  Andy,  "A'  niver  kiss  the 
Buk.  It's  lettle  more  nor  a  relic  of  idolatry.  A'  swear  with 
uplifted  hand,  sir,  as  did  ma  Covenanting  forebears." 

He  held  up  his  right  arm,  with  palm  and  fingers  spread 
open  wide,  and  reverently  stood  with  a  solemnity  upon  his 
face  and  in  his  whole  demeanor  that  at  once  impressed  the 
court  and  jury.  A  moment's  silence  followed  which  con 
tinued  until  the  ceremony  was  ended.  "So  help  me,  God!" 
said  Andy,  echoing  the  clerk's  closing  asseveration,  and 
then  dropped  his  arm. 

After  preliminary  questions,  the  Prosecutor  asked: 
"Do  you  know  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  Mr.  Burbeck?" 

"Do  A'  know  him,  sir?"  answered  Andy.  "Dade  an'  A' 
do!  A've  knowed  Jock  Latimer  from  a  b'y.  An'  that's 
himself;  at  laste,  what's  left  of  him.  But  if  he  spends  sax 
months  more  in  your  City  Hotel,  sir,  A'  wouldn't  wonder 
if  his  own  mother  didn't  know  him.  It  goes  to  my  heart, 
sir,  to  see  him  lookin'  so  pale  an'  pinched  like." 

"Spare  your  sympathies  for  another  occasion,  Mr.  Bur- 
beck,"  said  the  Prosecutor.  "Do  you  know  the  part  that 
Capt.  Latimer  took  in  the  late  insurrection?" 

"A'  do,  indade,  your  warship.  An'  it'll  not  take  much 
of  the  honorable  jury's  time  for  til  tell  it.  A  short  horse 
is  soon  curried,  sir."  An  audible  titter  escaped  from  one 
of  the  jurors  who  was  in  the  livery  stable  business. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  anyone  speak  of  the  prisoner  as  a 
traitor?" 

Mr.  Reid  here  objected  to  the  introduction  of  hearsay 
evidence.  Whereat,  Mr.  Bradford  explained  that  their 


THE    LATIMERS.  535 

purpose  was  to  show  a  general  reputation  for  disaffection 
to  the  Government,  which,  under  the  circumstances,  he 
conceived  to  be  quite  proper,  as  showing  a  motive  for  and  as 
explaining  certain  actions  which  would  be  proven  after 
ward.  The  Court  allowed  the  question,  and  Mr.  Reid  hav 
ing  entered  a  protest,  took  his  seat  and  Andy  answered. 

"A'  did,  sir,"  Andy  replied.  "But,  indade,  it's  not  worth 
while  troublin'  the  gintlemin  with  what  the  likes  of  him 
said  about  sich  a  gintlemin  as  Capt.  Latimer." 

"We  will  let  the  jury  judge  of  that  for  themselves,  Mr. 
Burbeck.  Tell  us,  if  you  please,  just  where  you  heard  Capt. 
Latimer  called  a  traitor  and  by  whom?" 

"It  was  at  Bower  Hill,  sir,  whan  Capt.  Jock  was  es- 
cortin'  Mrs.  Neville  and  the  ladies  to  a  place  of  safety, 
afore  they  began  a-firin'  on  the  house.  It  was  a  duty  he 
had  craved  of  the  committee;  an'  as  he  was  gittin'  the  party 
through,  he  was  stopped  by  a  santinel.  The  Captain 
showed  his  pass  from  the  Commander,  but  the  man  was 
obstreparous,  an'  cussed  the  Captain  for  a  stuck-up  aris- 
tycrat  an'  a  dawgoned  traitor  to  the  pop'lar  cause,  an'  no 
better  nor  Giner'l  Neville  himself." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Eawle.    "Is  that  all?" 

"No,  sir.  That  was  n't  all,  by  no  manner  of  manes. 
Mebbe  your  honor's  fond  of  wrastlin'?  Well,  sir,  jist  you 
try  a  throw  with  Captain  Jock,  there.  He'll  give  you  a 
p'inter  about  a  twister  well  worth  knowin'.  He's  got  a 
wonderful  trick  with  his  heels,  Capt.  Jock  has;  an'  afore 
that  sassy  giard  knowed  what  he  was  about,  he  was 
a-sprawlin'  in  the  dust  with  feet  p'inted  heavenward  an' 
his  own  bay'net  p'inted  at  his  buzzum.  That's  what  he 
got  for  callin'  Jock  Latimer  a  traitor.  A'  suppose  your  war 
ship  would  like  to  know  the  man's  name,  too?" 

"That  doesn't  matter,  Mr.  Burbeck,"  remarked  Mr. 
Rawle  carelessly. 

"Ay,  your  warship,  that's  jist  what  A'  was  a-tellin'  you 
at  first,  an'  you  wouldn't  bel'ave  me.  It  disn't  matter  what 
a  drunken,  ne'er-do  weel  like  Dave  Dandruff  says.  It's 
him  as  swore  out  the  afterdavy  agin  Capt.  Jock  Latimer. 
Ay,  he's  a  flamin'  patriot  now,  by  all  accounts;  but  he  was 
the  blatentest  insargent  in  all  the  West  in  them  days.  The 
Lord's  marcy  is  iver  great,  sir,  an'  convarts  the  chief  of 

ners." 

"Come,  come,  Mr.  Burbeck!"  said  the  Prosecutor  im- 


536  THE    LATIMERS. 

patiently.  "We  want  facts  and  not  your  opinions  and  com 
ments.  Save  your  pious  observations  for  a  more  fitting 
place.  You're  a  little  too  free  with  your  tongue,  sir;  and 
my  advice  is  that  you  restrain  it  a  bit  while  you  are  giving 
your  testimony,,  for  it  may  bring  you  into  trouble." 

Andy  dropped  his  face,  and  assumed  a  look  of  the 
utmost  humiliation.  Then,  in  a  penitential  tone,  he  re 
marked:  "A'm  greatly  obleeged  to  your  warship  for  your 
good  advice.  It's  jist  what  my  Peggy,  that's  Mrs.  Bur- 
beck,  your  honor,  sir,  is  always  a-tellin'  me.  'Andy/  siz 
she,  'the  tongue's  an  unruly  mamber;  an'  nayther  bit  nor 
bridle  did  ye  iver  try  to  put  upon  your  own,  tho'  you're 
fell  fond  o'  checkin'  ither  folks's.  Barrin'  the  lawyers', 
siz  she,  'there  was  niver  a  man  but  was  the  warse  for  a 
loose-hung  tongue,  an'  if  they're  better  for  it,  all  the  rest 
of  us  mayhap  are  the  warse.  There's  too  much  talk  wid  ye 
Andy,'  siz  she,  'an'  too  lettle  do.  Ye're  all  cry  an'  no 
wool,  as  the  shoemaker  said  whan  he  shore  the  pig/ 

An  outbreak  of  mirth  in  which  even  the  judges  joined, 
and  which  was  not  suppressed  by  the  crier's  calls  for  order, 
interrupted  the  staid  proceedings  of  the  Court  of  Justice. 
The  only  person  in  the  whole  house  apparently  unaffected 
thereby  was  the  witness  himself,  who  lifted  up  his  face, 
and  fixing  his  eyes  upon  Mr.  Justus  Keid,  who  was  espe 
cially  enjoying  the  situation,  regarded  him  with  a  look  of 
injured  innocence. 

"You  will  be  good  enough,  Mr.  Burbeck,"  said  Prose 
cutor  Rawle,  "to  tell  the  jury  of  any  other  time  or  place  in 
which  you  heard  the  prisoner  classed  with  the  insurgents. 
Do  you  remember  any  other  occasion?" 

"Yes,  sir!"  answered  Andy.  "Whan  Capt.  Dunlap,  of 
the  City  Troop,  an'  he's  a  gintlemin  if  there  iver  was  one, 
God  bless  him!  arristed  Capt.  Jock  at  his  father's  funeral, 
I  misdoubt  they  miscalled  him  an  insargent  in  the  bit 
paper  they  read  til  him." 

"Never  mind  that,  Mr.  Burbeck.  Is  there  any  other 
occasion  that  you  remember?" 

"There  is,  sir.  Yes,  there's  one  more."  He  hesitated 
and  paused.  "But  it  mislikes  me  sore  to  tell  it.  It  might 
go  agin  the  Captain,  for  the  gintlemin  seemed  to  have  a 
rare  chanct  for  to  know  his  opeenion  of  politics;  leastways, 
so  he  said,  sir." 

"You're  not  to  consider  whether  your  statements  go 


THE    LATIMERS.  537 

for  or  against  the  defendant/'  said  Mr.  Kawle,  speaking 
with  severity  and  emphasis.  "You  are  simply  to  declare 
the  whole  truth.  Go  on  with  your  testimony. 

"This  mornin',  your  warship,  as  A'  was  a-waitin'  in  the 
anteroom  there  with  other  witnesses,  some  of  the  city  officers 
were  havin'  a  crack  togither  over  the  prisoner's  trial. 
There's  one  of  'em,  sir,  that's  purty  high  up,  judgin'  by 
his  talk,  a  captain  of  police,  at  laste,  or  sich  like  matter. 
He  was  denouncin'  Capt.  Latimer  as  the  p'isenest  sort  of 
an  insargent.  His  words  were  awful  profane,  your  honors!"' 
— turning  to  the  judges'  bench — "A' would  like  your  honors 
to  axcuse  me  from  tellin'  the  whole  truth,  though  A've 
sworn  to  do  it.  A'  niver  h'ard  sich  cussin',  aven  on  the  fron 
tier;  an'  A'  niver  axpacted  to  live  for  to  hear  it  in  this 
Quaker  city,  sir.  It's  ralely  too  wicked  to  repate  in  your 
honor's  prisince,  an'  A'd  be  feard  of  shockin'  the  gentlemin 
of  the  bar." 

"We  will  excuse  the  profanity,"  said  Justice  Patterson 
with  a  smile,  "out  of  regard  for  our  lawyers'  morals.  Give 
the  substance  of  what  the  gentleman  said,  and  consider  the 
adjectives  as  excused." 

"Thank  your  honor!  Well,  says  this  high  officer,  if  they 
don't  hang  this  (axcused)  Latimer,  there's  no  use  in  gal 
luses.  He's  the  (double  axcusedest)  peskiest,  p'izenest 
rebel  of  the  whole  pedogerie.  I've  handled  ivery  one  of 
them  (axcused)  leather-breeched,  linsey-woolsey,  half-sav 
age  (axcused)  bog-trottin',  brogue-chatterin'  Scotch- 
Irish  riffraff,  siz  he.  Ivery  one  of  'em,  siz  he,  growin'  ax- 
cited  and  bringin'  his  big  fist  down  on  the  window  sill. 
Ivery  one  of  'em  I've  handled,  an'  that  (double  axcused) 
long-legged,  sly-footed,  Injun-huntin'  scout  of  a  Latimer 
is  the  bluest,  beastliest,  rankest  an'  most  rantankerous 
(axcusedly  axcused)  rebel  of  'em  all!  I'd  give  a  handful  of 
golden  eagles  to  have  the  hangin'  of  him.  There,  gintle- 
min  of  the  jury  an'  your  honors,  that's  the  whole  truth, 
barrin'  the  words  which  his  honor  was  good  enough  to  ax 
cuse.  A'  hope  the  honorable  gintlemin  of  the  jury  won't 
allow  the  opinion  of  sich  a  high  officer  of  this  honorable 
city  to  prejudyce  their  minds  agin  the  prisoner  at  the  bar. 
For  sir,  A'  as  good  as  made  him  ate  his  wareds.  A'  couldn't 
stand  thim  sayin's  agin  Capt.  Jock  and  the  Scotch-Irish; 
so  A'  walked  up  til  him  with  my  doubled  fists,  an'  siz  A': 
You're  a  (axcused) — liar!  But  this  man  here  (turning  to 


538  THE   LATIMEES. 

the  tipstaff)  pulled  me  away.  Then  he  says  to  the  captain 
of  police,  or  whativer  he  is,  sir,  you're  jist  the  man  they 
want  inside  the  coort  room  there.  Come  along  now,  siz  he, 
and  give  your  tistimony,  for  A'  dar'  say  it'll  be  vallyble 
in  hangin'  the  prisoner  at  the  bar.  An'  what  do  you  think, 
your  honors  and  gintlemin?  That  high-up  officer  sn'aked 
out  of  the  room  without  as  much  as  sayin'  by  your  lave! 
A'  saw  him  go  acrost  the  street  intil  the  tavern;  an'  A'  dar' 
say  he  naded  coolin'  refrishment,  for  there  must  be  a  mort 
o'  burnin'  brimstone  inside  a  man  as  can  pour  forth  sich 
het-up  stuff  as  that.  Savin'  them  two  men,  gintlemin, 
A'  niver  h'ard  mortal  man  accuse  Capt.  Jock  Latimer  of 
bein'  a  traitor  to  his  country." 

"You  were  at  Bower  Hill,  Mr.  Burbeck?"  asked  the 
Prosecutor,  quietly  changing  the  subject. 

"A'  was,  bad  luck  to  the  same!" 

"You  saw  the  prisoner  there?" 

"A'  did  sir.    He  was  escortin — " 

"We  have  heard  the  fact  before.  Did  you  see  him  dur 
ing  the  fight?" 

"A'  did  indade,  sir,  an'  had  hard  work  persuadin'  him  to 
take  to  kiver;  for  the  bullets  was  a-flyin'  that  thick,  an' 
barkin'  the  trees  all  round  us,  an'  A'  was  kinder  ashamed 
to  take  tree  while  the  Captain  stood  up  there.  So  to  save 
my  own  bacon — " 

"I  daresay!"  interrupted  Mr.  Rawle.  "But  what  we 
want  to  know  just  now  is,  if  you  saw  the  prisoner  take 
any  part  in  the  action?" 

Here  Andy  thrust  first  one  hand  and  then  the  other 
through  his  hair,  apparently  in  a  state  of  embarrassed 
excitement. 

"Speak  up,  Mr.  Burbeck.  Tell  us  what  part  you  saw 
the  prisoner  take  in  the  action  at  Bower  Hill?"  the  Prose 
cutor  urged. 

"Your  warship  an'  gintlemin,  A'  did  see  him  make  two 
charges;  an.'  that's  the  truth,  if  A'  must  spake  out. 

"The  first  one  was  jist  this  way.  In  the  midst  of  the 
scrimmage  one  of  the  nayger  quarters  was  sot  on  fire. 
Thereat  Capt.  Jock  runs  over  to  whar  the  insargent  com 
mander  stood,  an'  ast  him  if  that  had  been  done  by  his 
orders.  'No,  sir;'  says  the  Major.  'It's  an  accidint;  an' 
I've  jist  ordered  a  party  to  quench  the  fire.'  'Can  I  lade 
that  party?'  says  Capt.  Jock.  'Sartain!'  says  the  Major. 


THE   LATIMERS.  539 

An'  away  Capt.  Jock  tears  like  mad,  the  bullets  flyin'  all 
around  him  an7  riddlin'  his  clothes;  for,  ye  see,  the  soldiers 
an'  the  naygers  thought  he  was  a-chargin'  on  thim.  But 
he  kep'  right  on  an'  began  workin'  at  the  burnin'  shanty. 
Then  the  darkies  seein'  what  we  was  at,  stopped  shootin' 
an'  began  to  help;  an'  so  we  got  the  fire  out.  But  the 
Captain  was  a  sight  to  see,  A'  can  tell  you.  He  looked 
more  like  a  chimbleysweep  nor  a  gintlemin.  'But  niver 
mind,'  siz  he,  'we  saved  the  property.'  That's  one  charge 
Capt.  Latimer  led,  your  warship.  An'  we  was  all  mighty 
sorry  to  see  him  take  his  life  in  his  hand  that  way,  an' 
mighty  glad  whan  he  got  out  safely." 

"Well!"  remarked  Mr.  Eawle,  "the  jury  will  not  be 
inclined  to  put  that  to  his  disadvantage,  I  daresay.  But 
the  other  charge  that  the  prisoner  made,  was  it  of  the 
same  peaceful  nature?" 

"N — no,  sir.  It  was  not,  indade.  It  was  genuwine 
fightin'  that;  an'  pretty  sayrious  wark,  sir." 

"Capt.  Latimer  led  in  that,  you  say?" 

"A'm  loth  to  say  'at  he  did." 

"Very  well;  that's  just  what  we  want  to  hear.  State 
the  facts  precisely  as  you  saw  them,  Mr.  Burbeck." 

"Whan  the  garrison  showed  a  flag  of  truce,"  Andy 
began,  "Major  McFarlane  ran  out  to  stop  his  men  from 
shootin'.  Jist  then  a  volley  came  from  the  house  an' 
struck  him  down  in  the  road.  Capt.  Latimer  rushed  out 
under  a  sharp  fire  an'  brought  in  the  Major's  body  to  the 
shelter  of  the  grove.  But  he  was  dead,  sir.  That  put  the 
militia  beyant  all  control,  an'  they  fired  the  outhouses,  an' 
closed  in  on  the  mansion,  so  that  the  garrison  had  to  sur 
render.  Out  they  comes,  the  soldiers  from  Pittsburg  with 
Lieut.  Burd  their  commander,  and  Major  Ivirkpatrick  who 
had  been  sarvin'  a  musket.  The  soldiers  was  all  sot  free  at 
wanct;  but  somehow  the  rioters  blamed  Major  Kirkpatrick 
with  killin'  their  1'ader,  an'  that  inunder  a  flag  of  truce. 
So  they  made  a  rush  at  him  an'  surrounded  him,  an'  began 
cryin'  out  to  hang  him,  an'  to  kill  him,  which  A'  dar'  say 
they  might  'a  done.  Jist  then  a  man  charged  intil  the 
midst  of  the  mob,  an'  began  tossin'  'em  right  an'  left,  an' 
trippin'  up  one,  an'  knockin'  down  another,  an'  beatin'  up 
muskets  an'  rifles  an'  a  shoutin'  shame!  shame!  at  the  top 
of  his  voice.  It  was  amazin'  how  soon  he  cl'ared  the  ring 
an'  got  the  old  man  out  of  the  dust  an'  onto  his  feet  agin. 


540  THE   LATIMEKS. 

That  sir,  was  the  pluckiest  charge  A've  seen,  though  A've 
been  in  manny  a  hot  scrimmage,  an'  that's  the  man,  sir," — 
pointing  to  John  Latimer — "that  led  it!  Ay,  sir,  led  it- 
single-handed. 

"It  mebbe  would  'a  gone  hard  with  him,  but  jist 
then  his  father  come  up,  who  had  succaded  to  the  com 
mand,  an'  the  men  got  quieted  down.  Meanwhile,  Capt. 
Jock  had  led  Major  Kirkpatrick  intil  the  woods,  an' 
mounted  him  on  his  own  horse,  an'  bade  him  make  tracks, 
an'  lose  no  time,  an'  started  him  out  for  a  place  of  safety. 
Which  the  Major  not  lackin'  in  kenspeckle,  whativer  else 
he  may  lack,  sir,  did  without  farder  delay.  That  was  the 
ind  of  the  fightin'  at  Bower  Hill,  an'  Capt.  Jock  an'  maself 
soon  after  left  for  home  with  his  father,  who  was  sore 
hurted  in  the  scrimmage.  ISTex'  day  the  Captain  left  for 
Wayne's  Army,  an'  was  there  a-scoutin'  till  after  the  battle 
of  Fallen  Timbers." 

"May  it  please  the  Court,"  said  Mr.  Kawle,  "we  have  no 
more  witnesses  to  present." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  my  learned  brother  say  so,"  said 
Mr.  Justus  Reid.  "Very  sorry  indeed!  Especially  if  the 
prosecution  have  any  more  witnesses  like  the  last.  We 
decline  to  cross  question,  and  there  is  only  one  witness 
whose  testimony  we  ask  to  present.  That  is  done  more 
from  regard  to  the  wishes  of  our  client  for  a  complete 
public  vindication,  than  because  his  counsel  thinks  there 
is  the  least  necessity  for  it." 

Capt.  Burd  was  then  placed  upon  the  stand,  and  related 
his  interview  with  Capt.  Latimer  at  Bower  Hill.  He  told 
the  incidents  of  the  prisoner's  coming  to  the  scene  of  the 
attack,  as  explained  to  him  at  the  time;  and  his  reasons 
for  volunteering  for  the  peaceful  act  of  escorting  the 
ladies  of  the  household  to  a  place  of  safety.  He  also  con 
firmed  Andy's  account  of  John's  gallant  and  humane  be 
havior  in  securing  the  safety  of  the  surrendered  garrison; 
and  his  personal  knowledge  of  John's  unswerving  loyalty 
to  the  Government  through  all  the  anti-excise  riots,  and 
that  under  circumstances  peculiarly  trying.  He  expressed 
the  decided  opinion  that  instead  of  prosecution  and  the 
six  months'  imprisonment  which  this  gallant  officer  and 
loyal  gentleman  had  endured,  the  Government  should 
have  added  to  the  marks  of  honorable  service  which  he 
already  bore  upon  his  breast  from  the  hands  of  Gen. 
Anthony  Wayne. 


THE   LATIMERS.  541 

"Your  honors,"  said  Mr.  Reid,  when  Capt.  Burd's  evi 
dence  was  ended,  "we  have  only  this  documentary  testi 
mony  to  present."  He  handed  to  the  Court  the  written 
instructions  of  Gen.  Wayne  to  John  Latimer  and  the 
Mingo  Indian  Panther,  to  forward  certain  despatches  and 
letters  to  Major  Butler,  the  commandant  at  Fort  Pitt,  and 
to  return  with  as  full  an  account  as  practicable  of  the  state 
of  things  in  Western  Pennsylvania,  and  to  report  whether 
the  same  was  likely  to  interfere  with  the  Western  Army's 
supplies.  The  order  was  endorsed  by  Major  Butler,  certi 
fying  that  John  Latimer  had  delivered  the  aforesaid  de 
spatches  on  the  morning  of  July  15,  1794. 

"Mark  the  date,  your  honors  and  gentlemen  of  the 
jury.  That  was  the  very  morning  of  the  fight  at  Bower 
Hill,  and  confirms  the  sworn  statement  of  the  witnesses 
Andrew  Burbeck  and  Capt.  Burd  as  to  the  circumstances 
under  which  the  prisoner  was  present  at  that  affair.  The 
motive  of  his  appearance  at  the  fight  is  made  entirely 
plain,  and  is  as  honorable  to  Capt.  Latimer  as  his  conduct 
has  been  under  all  circumstances." 

A  brief  consultation  followed  between  the  prisoner's 
counsel  and  the  attorneys  for  the  prosecution,  and  then 
by  mutual  consent  Mr.  Eawle  addresssed  the  Court.  "May 
it  please  your  honors,"  he  said.  "We  have  examined  twelve 
of  the  most  substantial  witnesses  against  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar.  Others,  whose  testimony  is  circumstantial,  we 
deem  it  useless  to  present.  After  consultation  with  our 
learned  brother  who  represents  the  defendant,  we  have 
agre?d  to  submit  the  case  without  further  argument,  and 
leave  it  to  your  honors  to  give  the  charge  to  the  jury  upon 
the  testimony  before  you." 

The  presiding  judge,  Justice  Patterson,  arose  and  the 
jury  having  been  polled  stood  up  and  were  charged  as 
follows:  "Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  you  have  heard  the 
accusation  read  against  the  prisoner,  and  you  have  listened 
to  the  sworn  testimony  which  has  been  presented.  The 
opinion  of  the  Court  is  that  the  prisoner  is  not  guilty. 
The  charge  has  not  been  supported  by  a  single  witness  or 
by  the  slightest  proof.  If  you  agree  with  the  Court  in  this 
opinion,  you  will  find  for  the  "defendant  and  bring  in  a 
verdict  of  not  guilty." 

The  jury  bowed  to  the  Court  and  after  a  consultation 
of  less  than  two  minutes  and  without  leaving:  the  box,  re 
turned  a  verdict  of  "not  guilty." 


542  THE    LATIMERS. 

"The  prisoner  is  discharged!"  said  Justice  Patterson. 

A  burst  of  applause  followed  this  announcement,  which 
the  Court  did  not  try  to  restrain,  although  the  crier  lifted 
up  his  voice  and  shouted:  "Oh-yeez,  oy-yeez!  Order  in 
the  honorable  Court!"  It  was  observable,  however,  that  the 
tone  of  this  venerable  functionary  was  rather  like  a  cheer 
than  a  call  to  order. 

High  above  all  these  sounds  arose  the  rich  Doric  of 
Andy  Burbeck's  "Hurray!  The  Lord  be  praised!"  He 
stood  outside  the  bar,  swinging  his  wool  hat  in  one  hand 
and  with  the  other  "hackling  his  hair,"  to  quote  Mrs. 
Peggy's  phrase,  while  the  tears  flowed  freely  down  his 
honest,  freckled  face. 

Meanwhile,  John  was  receiving  the  congratulations  of 
his  faithful  attorney  and  of  the  Prosecutor  as  well.  Even 
some  of  the  jurors  in  the  front  seats  leaned  over  the  box 
and  grasped  his  hand.  John  was  in  an  ecstasy  of  inward 
joy,  although  his  outward  bearing  was  quiet,  and  marked 
by  that  high  courtesy  which  sat  so  easily  upon  him.  He 
was  free!  His  honor  was  vindicated!  He  was  a  man,  a 
free  man  once  more!  He  longed  to  go  out  into  the  sun 
shine,  and  leap  over  the  face  of  the  earth,  ay,  to  fall  down 
and  kiss  the  ground  over  which  once  more  he  could  walk  at 
liberty. 

The  voice  of  the  judge  quietly  calling  the  next  case  fell 
upon  his  ear.  The  crier's  loud  "0-yez"  rose  above  the 
momentary  bustle  and  soothed  the  court  room  into  quiet. 
John  passed  beyond  the  bar.  The  tipstaff  shook  hands 
with  him,  and  bade  him  good  luck.  Capt.  Burd  waited  to 
greet  him  with  warm  congratulations.  Then  Andy,  dear 
old  Andy,  seized  him  with  both  hands  and  took  possession 
of  him,,  almost  bearing  him  bodily  down  the  stairway  into 
Independence  Square. 

Ah,  Good  Lord!  what  a  glad  day  it  was!  The  leaves  on 
the  embowering  trees  waved  to  him  as  he  walked  along. 
The  birds  bobbed  their  heads,  and  wagged  their  tails,  and 
as  they  flew  away  with  their  wings  twinkling  in  the  sun 
light,  seemed  to  wink  at  him  and  say:  "Free,  free!  che- 
wee,  che-wee,  che-weet!  Sweet,  sweet!"  The  horses  as 
they  jogged  along;  the  dogs  frolicking  in  the  street,  the 
children  playing  on  the  sidewalks  and  filling  the  air  with 
their  glad,  young  voices,  all  seemed  to  John  to  be  celebrat 
ing  his  release.  These  familiar  sounds  had  a  strange  tim- 


THE    LATIMERS.  543 

bre;  a  tjne  and  temper  not  new  indeed,  but  as  of  somewhat 
that  had  been  unloosed  from  memory  and  was  ringing  up 
scenes  and  sensations  of  long,  long  ago.  Yet  he  had  been 
a  prisoner  just  six  months  and  six  days! 


CHAPTER  LV. 

A  DISH  OF  NEWS  AND  A  DINNER  AT  THE   INDIAN  QUEEN. 

From  the  City  Hall,  John  Latimer  accompanied  by 
Andy  walked  to  the  jail.  He  would  gather  together  his 
few  belongings  and  say  good  bye  to  friends  and  acquaint 
ances  who  yet  awaited  their  trials.  Then  he  would 
go  forth,  he  knew  not  whither,  but  at  least  he  knew  that 
he  would  be  free.  It  was  the  work  of  but  a  few  minutes  to 
pack  his  luggage  in  his  saddle  bags,  which  Andy  insisted  on 
toting. 

The  prisoners  were  out  at  their  daily  exercise.  The 
companionship  of  suffering  had  drawn  John  closely  to  his 
fellow  captives,  and  as  he  bade  them  a  tender  good  bye, 
he  cheered  them  with  words  of  hope.  It  was  a  comfort 
to  him  to  feel  that  among  them  all  there  was  not  one  who 
did  not  with  a  sincere  heart  wish  him  joy  at  his  deliver 
ance,  and  yet  not  one  who  did  not  see  him  leave  with  some 
sense  of  personal  loss. 

"It  will  be  a  gloomier  prison,"  said  one  of  the  insur 
gents,  as  he  pressed  John's  hand,  "when  your  bright  face 
has  gone  from  among  us.  God  bless  and  preserve  you, 
Capt.  Latimer!" 

"Ay,  ay,"  arose  from  every  side. 

"Three  cheers  for  Capt.  Latimer!"  cried  one  of  the 
group.  The  hurrahs  were  given  with  a  will,  and  Andy's 
lusty  voice  added  not  a  little  to  their  volume. 

And  now,  as  the  last  words  were  being  spoken,  Mr.  I. 
Turner  Locke  entered  the  quadrangle.  His  face  was  fairly 
radiant,  and  was  wreathed  with  smiles.  He  moved  with  a 
vigor  and  agility  that  his  ponderous  frame  seemed  hardly 
capable  of.  With  both  hands  outstretched,  he  pressed 
through  the  group  of  prisoners,  and  in  a  voice  resonant 
with  seeming  delight,  exclaimed: 

"Cap'en  Latimer,  God  bless  you,  sir!    I  have  jest  heerd 


544  THE   LATIMEKS. 

the  gelorious  noos.  I  was  a'most  too  late  to  give  you  me 
hearty  congratulation.  It  has  bean  more  than  a  windica- 
tion;  it  has  bean  a  triump,  sir!  They's  none  of  your  friends 
happier  than  meself  at  your  rekase.  Although,  we  shall 
miss  you  here;  we  shall  miss  you  greatly,  Cap'en  Latimer." 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Andrew  Burbeck  was  exhibiting  a 
series  of  remarkable  facial  transformations.  His  eyes,  that 
were  moist  with  pleasurable  excitement,  began  to  open 
wide  with  wonder.  The  jolly  face,  red  with  the  exercise 
of  shouting  cheers  for  his  friend  John,  lost  its  mirthful 
curves,  and  lengthened  by  the  dropping  of  the  lower  jaw 
until  the  mouth  was  wide  open.  This  amazement  of  visage 
which  had  so  swiftly  followed  his  joyful  expressions,  was  as 
quickly  followed  by  indignation.  He  dropped  the  saddle 
bags,  and  springing  between  John  and  the  approaching 
turnkey,  struck  up  the  outreached  hands.  Mr.  Locke 
started  back  and  exhibited  as  remarkable  a  facial  transfor 
mation  as  Andy  had  displayed.  A  flush  of  surprise  and 
displeasure  came  to  John's  face,  but  before  he  had  time  to 
interfere,  Andy  broke  forth: 

"Back  with  ye!  Would  ye  dar'  touch  Capt.  Latimer 
with  your  greasy  trecherous  paws?  You  miserable  moun 
tain  of  puddings!  You  glib-tongued,  double-faced  cumber- 
ground!  May  the  false  mouth  of  you  be  scaldered  by  the 
soft  solder  that's  a-gushin'  from  it!  Ye'd  like  to  have  the 
hangin'  of  Captain  Latimer,  would  ye?  Ye'd  like  to 
thropple  him  with  the  hangman's  rope,  would  ye?  Oh, 
ye  lard-lapped  limb  of  Sattan!  Ye  black-hearted  son  of 
Jack  Ketch!  Up  with  the  two  fists  of  ye  this  minute;  for 
big  as  ye  are,  A'll  lam  ye  till  ye're  as  flat  as  a  pancake." 

Mr.  Locke  grew  pale.  He  backed  away  from  his  enraged 
adversary.  He  was  evidently  about  to  turn  and  run,  when 
John  Latimer  interposed.  He  laid  his  hands  on  Andy,  and 
exclaimed:  "What  does  this  mean?  Are  you  mad,  my 
friend?" 

"Mad!"  echoed  Andy,  "mad's  no  word  for  it,  Mr.  Jock. 
Whativer  do  you  interfare  for?  Look  at  yon  hulkin'  hul- 
lion!  That's  the  man  A'  telled  the  Coort  about  this 
mornin'.  That's  the  Captain  of  Police,  or  whativer  he  is, 
that  denounced  ye  in  the  waitin'  room  as  the  p'isenest, 
peskiest  traitor  in  the  whole  lot,  an'  said  he  only  craved 
the  job  of  hangin'  ye.  An'  him  to  come  here  an'  bam 
boozle  ye  with  his  flam  an'  pertanded  congratoolations! 


THE    LATIMERS.  545 

L'ave  loose  of  me,  Mr.  John!     All  job  the  face  of  him! 
0  ye  barrel-shaped  boogyboo!" 

But  John  held  tightly  to  his  wrathful  friend.  He  had 
never  seen  Andy  so  wrought  up  before;  and  indeed  he 
would  have  broken  away  and  made  good  his  threats  had  not 
Capt.  Eobert  Porter  aided  John  to  restrain  his  outbreak  of 
temper.  Meanwhile  several  of  the  jail  officers  had  gath 
ered,  and  Mr.  Locke  somewhat  recovered  his  equanimity. 
But  though  relieved  of  bodily  fear,  he  dared  not  look  John 
in  the  face.  He  slunk  behind  his  official  associates,  and 
without  another  word  sneaked  from  the  quadrangle. 

"Come, Andy!"  said  John.  "He  is  not  worth  a  thought, 
let  alone  such  a  tempest  as  this.  You  will  get  yourself 
into  a  row  that  will  land  you  in  jail,  and  then  I'll  have  to 
come  back  and  keep  you  company.  A  jolly  time  we'll 
have  of  it,  with  turnkey  Locke  for  our  keeper!" 

Andy  took  up  the  saddle  bags,  and  put  on  his  hat  and 
followed,  but  grudgingly.  He  felt  that  he  had  been 
hindered  in  an  act  of  justice.  "What's  a  bit  of  tongue 
lashin'  to  yon  trumpery  besom?"  he  exclaimed.  "It  rolls 
off'n  his  slithery  sides  like  water  from  a  duck's  back.  It's 
a  thorough  skelpin'  he  nades.  A'll  be  whupped  if  A' 
wouldn't  pay  a  year's  wages  for  the  chanct  til  give  him  a 
good  lambastin'.  Ah,  Capt.  Jock,  ye  hindered  me  of  a 
rare,  providential  opportunity.  What's  justice  worth  in 
this  warld,  if  ye  can't  administer  it  wanct  in  a  while  to 
sich  a  craitur  as  yon?" 

As  the  two  men  left  the  prison  grounds,  an  old  gentle 
man  with  a  bowed  back  and  long  gray  beard  entered  the 
gate,  and  slowly  made  his  way  towards  Mr.  Locke's  room. 
It  was  Judah  Solomons,  the  jeweler.  He  found  the  turn 
key  in  a  sadly  dejected  frame  of  mind.  The  public  expo 
sure  of  his  double  dealing  with  Capt.  Latimer,  and  Andy's 
terrible  torrent  of  Irish  expletives,  had  irritated  and  punc 
tured  even  his  pachydermatous  sensibilities.  Moreover,  he 
was  greatly  exercised  in  mind  over  the  probable  results. 
His  official  record  had  lately  grown  unsavory,  and  his 
standing  had  become  insecure.  He  was  conscious  of  this, 
and  the  morning's  flurry  seemed  to  him  to  foretell  the 
storm  that  would  sweep  him  out  of  office. 

"Goot  mornings,  Mr.  Locke!"  said  the  Jew.     "I  haf 
come  to  see  you  dis  mornings  about  dot  Cap'en  Latimer, 
an'  his  bit  of  old  chewelry.  What  is  de  wort  you  haf  for  me? 
Somedings  goot,  I  hope?" 
35 


546  THE    LATIMERS. 

Even  Mr.  Solomons,  hardened  as  he  was  to  the  ways 
of  the  profane  world,  was  shocked  at  the  storm  of  oaths 
that  his  question  evoked.  He  stroked  his  beard  violently, 
and  backed  toward  the  door,  while  the  turnkey  invoked 
all  powers  in  the  highest  heavens  and  in  the  deepest  hades 
to  confound  and  eschew  Capt.  Latimer  and  all  his  works. 

"I  haf  nefer  seen  you  in  dis  conditions,  Mr.  Locke/'  at 
last  the  Jew  remonstrated.  "Dis  is  highly  unbecoming 
a  city  officer,  is  dis.  I  will  call  again  when  you  are  quite 
a  sober  mans/'  He  placed  his  hat  upon  his  head  and  was 
about  to  retire. 

"If  it  is  to  see  that  Latimer,"  Locke  thundered  after 
him,  "you  needn't  come  back  here  again.  He's  gone." 

"Gone?"  echoed  the  Jew,  advancing  a  step  towards 
Locke  in  his  anxiety.  "Gone?  Where?" 

"To  the  devil,  I  hope!  Were  are  your  eyes,  old  man? 
You  must  'ave  passed  him  as  you  came  into  the  jail." 

"Ah,  so  I  dit,  so  I  dit!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Solomons,  re 
membering  the  outgoing  party  whom  he  had  met  as  he 
came  in.  He  turned  to  run  after  the  released  Captain; 
then  seeing  the  folly  of  pursuit,  came  back  and  asked: 

"Haf  you  not  his  address?  Did  he  not  say  where  he 
haf  gone?  Tell  me  dot!  You  must  know,  surely.  It  will 
be  a  golten  eagle,  ay,  two  golten  eagles  in  your  hant,  if  you 
tell  me  where  dis  young  man  haf  gone.  My  client  haf 
come  back  to  me;  an'  he  offer  me  a  huntert  dollar  for  dot 
trinket  which  de  Captain  of  de  Scout  wear.  Tell  me  where 
I  can  fint  him;  I  will  rewart  you  well." 

The  turnkey  only  groaned.  Twenty  dollars  lost  after 
such  a  morning's  experience!  Luck  was  all  against  him. 
"I  know  nothing!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  can  tell  you  nothing. 
He's  gone,  and  I  don't  know  w'ere.  And  get  you  after 
him!"  he  cried.  "0  Lord!  The  devil  is  in  it  all!" 

Mr.  Solomons  retired  precipitately  to  prosecute  his 
research  as  best  he  could,  leaving  the  turnkey  to  his  own  bit 
ter  meditations.  Fortunately  for  future  prisoners,  his  pre 
monitions  of  coming  evil  were  soon  realized.  His  resigna 
tion  was  demanded  within  a  few  weeks,  and  to  the  joy  of  all 
within  the  jail  bounds,  he  betook  himself  to  the  little 
provision  store  of  Mrs.  I.  Turner  Locke.  This  lady's  vine 
gary  temper  and  bitter  tongue,  rendered  trebly  acrid  by 
the  loss  of  her  profitable  jail  connection,  amply  revenged 
the  wrongs  of  the  prisoners  whose  unhappy  lives  had  been 
made  more  wretched  by  her  husband's  greed. 


THE   LATIMEES.  547 

At  the  Indian  Queen  Tavern  John  engaged  rooms  for 
himself  and  Andy,  and  leaving  an  order  for  a  six  o'clock 
dinner,  started  out  to  look  at  the  city.  He  had  asked  Mr. 
Reid  to  dine  with  him,  not  only  to  celebrate  his  deliver 
ance,  but  to  advise  him  in  a  most  important  matter  which 
he  would  lay  before  him.  Tired  of  sightseeing  John  got 
back  early,  and  went  to  his  room,  and  while  waiting  for  his 
guest  discussed  with  Andy  the  changes  that  had  occurred 
in  the  West.  Mrs.  Latimer  had  sold  the  Canonsburg  place 
and  removed  to  Pittsburg,  where  Luke  had  made  some 
advantageous  purchases  of  land.  With  the  advice  and  aid 
of  her  lawyer  Mr.  Brackenridge,  she  made  yet  larger  invest 
ments  in  town  lots,,  and  settled  in  a  comfortable  home  with, 
her  daughter  Meg  and  Featherfoot  as  companions,  and 
Dungy,  now  a  freeman  by  Luke  Latimer's  will,  installed 
as  majordomo  and  man  of  all  work. 

The  true  story  of  John  Latimer's  adoption  had  been 
told  to  the  Canonsburg  Church  Session,  and  thence  had 
spread  through  the  community.  Mrs.  Latimer  had  not 
seriously  lost  caste  thereby,  yet  she  made  up  her  mind  that 
she  would  be  happier  away  from  the  old  home,  and  pre 
ferred  to  begin  life  anew  in  new  surroundings.  Meg  and 
Mort  Sheldon  had  made  it  up  to  be  married,  and  the  wed 
ding  only  awaited  John's  release  that  he  might  be  present. 
Mr.  McCormack  and  George  his  son  had  got  back  from 
their  self-imposed  exile  in  Kentucky,  and  Fanny  McCor 
mack  was  again  free  from  the  burden  of  the  store. 

The  country  had  quieted  down,  and  was  never  so  pros 
perous.  The  West  was  booming.  The  invasion  of  the 
army  had  given  impulse  to  business  of  all  sorts.  Emigra 
tion  had  greatly  increased.  Many  of  the  soldiers  who  had 
crossed  the  mountains  as  invaders  were  returning  as  set 
tlers.  The  composure  of  Indian  hostilities  by  Gen.  Wayne 
had  also  stimulated  emigration  to  the  further  West  by 
opening  up  the  navigation  of  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi 
Rivers.  That,  with  the  furnishing  and  transportation  of 
supplies  for  the  Legion,  added  to  the  quantity  and  profit  of 
business.  Moreover,  a  circulating  medium  of  coin  was 
introduced  with  which  the  farmers  could  pay  their  revenue 
tax,  and  therewith  the  chief  objection  and  burden  of  the 
excise  laws  disappeared.  The  West  waited  to  give  John  a 
welcome,  Andy  averred,  and  there  was  a  great  field  therein 
open  for  him  to  enter  upon. 


548  THE    LATIMEKS. 

Jjohn  assented  to  this.  Indeed,  it  was  what  he  had 
determined  upon.  There  were  some  things  which  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  do,,  and  then  Westward-ho!  He 
would  make  an  effort  to  solve  the  mystery  of  his  birth. 

"Moreover,"  he  continued,  "I  must  call  on  Miss  Old- 
ham.  That  is  perhaps  my  first  duty.  You  remember  her, 
Andy,  of  course  ?" 

"Is  my  memory  a  cullender,  do  ye  think?"  Andy 
answered,  "that  a  lass  like  that  would  run  clane  out  of  it? 
Ay,  I  mind  her  fine." 

"She  has  shown  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  my  case/' 
John  continued. 

"An'  what  for  not?"  asked  Andy.  "You  showed  a  lot 
of  interest  in  her  whan  she  greatly  naded  the  same;  an'  one 
good  turn  desarves  another." 

"Tush,  Andy!  You  don't  know  what  you're  talking 
about.  Any  true  man  would  have  done  all  that  I  did.  A 
gentleman  is  bound  to  relieve  a  woman  when  in  danger 
and  trouble.  But  it  is  quite  different  with  a  beautiful  and 
accomplished  lady.  She  is  under  no  obligations." 

"Now,  Capt.  Jock/'  quoth  Andy,  "you're  like  the  oars 
man  who  looks  one  way  and  rows  t'other.  If  it's  true  gin- 
tility  in  a  man  for  til  mind  a  favor,  it's  the  same  in  a 
woman.  Sure,  what's  sauce  for  the  goose  is  sauce  for  the 
gander." 

"Well,  well!"  John  responded  somewhat  impatiently. 
"Let  that  go.  Whatever  obligations  the  past  imposed  have 
been  fully  cancelled.  Miss  Oldham  volunteered  to  testify 
for  me,  and  suggested  Capt.  Burd  as  a  witness  to  my  lawyer. 
Indeed,  it  is  to  her  that  I  owe  the  employment  of  Mr.  Eeid, 
who  has  so  successfully  conducted  my  case,  when  I  was 
intent  on  standing  trial  without  legal  aid!" 

Andy  lowered  the  untasted  mug  of  ale  he  was  lifting 
to  his  lips,  and  gazed  at  John  with  undisguised  surprise. 

"I  have  heard  of  her  interest  in  many  ways,"  John 
continued;  "although  she  never  made  herself  known  to  me, 
and  tried  to  conceal  her  identity.  Out  of  delicate  regard 
for  my  feelings,  I  suppose.  She  even  called  at  the  jail  to 
see  for  herself  how  I  was  treated,  and  made  interest  for  me 
with  the  prison  officials." 

Andy's  mug,  which  had  been  held  midway  of  mouth  and 
table  during  the  last  remark,  now  came  down  upon  the 
table  top  with  a  thump.  The  free  hand  made  a  quick  jour- 


THE   LATIMEES.  549 

ney  to  his  hair,  which,  after  several  excited  excursions  of 
his  fingers  therein,  presented  its  normal  expression  of  in 
tense  emotion. 

"That  caps  all!"  he  cried.  "Whativer  could  have  pos 
sessed  ye,  Jock  Latimer?  Do  you  ralely  mane  what  you're 
sayin'?" 

John  flushed  deeply,  and  glowering  at  Andy  with  no 
pleased  look,  exclaimed:  "Do  you  question  my  word? 
What  do  you  mean,  man?" 

"Ay,  ay;  A'  see  it  is  aven  so!"  Andy  returned,  shaking 
his  head.  "A've  h'ard  that  love  is  blind!  but  A'  niver 
knowed  afore  that  it  was  deef  an'  dumb  too.  If  some  half 
clacket  gawk  had  'a  done  this,  now,  A'  wouldn't  'a  won 
dered.  But  that  my  old  fri'nd,  Capt.  Jock,  that's  as  keen 
as  a  brier  and  as  wide  awake  as  a  bagful  of  fleas,  should  be 
so  stupid,  passes  all  belafe!  Why  Jock,  man,  that  wasn't 
Blanche  Oldham  at  all.  It  was  Fanny  McCormack!" 

"What!"  cried  John,  fairly  lifted  to  his  feet  by  the 
impulse  of  this  great  surprise.  He  glared  angrily  at  Andy. 
"Don't  trifle  with  me!"  he  exclaimed.  "There's  no  man 
living  from  whom  I  would  bear  as  much  as  from  you,  but 
there  are  some  feelings  that  even  our  friends — " 

"A'm  not  triflin'  with  you,  Jock,"  said  Andy  with  a 
soft  voice  and  kindly  look.  "It's  God's  truth  A'm  a-tellin' 
ye.  Fanny  McCormack  was  here  durin'  Aprile,  an'  only 
went  home  two  weeks  agone.  Your  mother  would  'a  come 
til  ye,  but  she  was  laid  up  with  the  rheumatiz,  an'  Meg, 
of  course,  wouldn't  do.  So  Fannv  was  ast,  an'  she  pulled 
up  stakes  at  wanct,  an'  crossed  the  mountains,  bringin' 
a  racommind  from  Mr.  Brackenridge  to  Mr.  Justus  Reid. 
We  all  knowed  that  you  was  sacrificin'  -yourself,  an'  we 
resolved  to  bender  ye  if  we  could.  That's  the  long  an' 
short  of  it,  John.  An'  it's  to  Fanny  McCormack  an'  not 
Blanche  Oldham  that  ye  owe  Mr.  Reid's  interest  an'  aid." 

The  red  blood  ran  out  of  John's  face,  leaving  it 
blanched.  The  hand  that  rested  on  the  back  of  his  chair 
trembled.  He  stared  at  Andy  with  dull,  almost  expres 
sionless  eyes.  Then  he  dropped  listlessly  into  his  chair 
and  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  table.  "Fanny  McCormack!" 
he  muttered,  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  his  friend.  "Fanny 
McCormack?" 

"Ay,  John!"  Andy  responded  in  the  soft,  sympathetic 
way  which  he  could  so  easily  command.  "Fanny  McCor 
mack  it  was,  and  none  else." 


550  THE   LATIMERS. 

Now  the  blood  rushed  to  John's  face  until  it  was  red 
to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  He  threw  himself  back  violently 
against  his  chair.  Disappointment,  surprise,  mortification, 
were  struggling  within  his  bosom. 

"Idiot!"  he  cried  between  his  teeth.  "To  think  that  I 
have  been  living  in  such  a  fooFs  paradise!  Oh,  this  is 
unbearable!" 

A  knock  at  the  door  startled  him.  The  waiter  had 
come  to  lay  the  table.  John  arose  and  hurried  from  the 
room  into  the  open  air,  and  paced  to  and  fro  the  little  side- 
yard  walk  until  the  waiter  came  to  tell  him  that  Mr.  Eeid 
had  arrived.  No  one  would  have  known  by  his  manner 
what  a  tempest  had  been  raging  within  him.  Panther's 
lessons  in  the  Indian  art  of  self-repression  had  not  been 
in  vain.  When  dinner  was  served,  the  waiter  brought  in 
Andy's  contribution  to  the  feast,  a  huge  bunch  of  lilac 
blossoms  set  within  a  crock. 

"Capt.  Jock  loves  layloeks,"  he  explained,  as  they  were 
set  in  the  middle  of  the  table.  "They're  his  favoryte 
flower.  A'  got  these  off  a  bit  blue-eyed  lass  that  A'  saw 
swingin'  on  a  picket  gate,  with  a  yardful  of  shrubs  ahint 
her.  A'  promised  her  saxpence  for  a  han'ful,  an'  she  didn't 
skimp  her  measure,  ye  see,  for  she  brought  me  an  armful, 
the  ginerous  little  darlin'!  An'  then,  whan  A'  offered  her 
the  money,  she  refused  to  take  it.  'Sure,  they're  worth 
nothin'  to  us!'  siz  she,  'an'  you're  welcome!' 

"As  A'  was  givin'  her  my  thanks,  she  eyed  me  curi 
ously,  an'  asks,  'Are  you  an  Injun-sargent,  Mister?'  An' 
what's  an  Injun-sargent?  siz  I.  'Well,  I  don't  jist  know,' 
she  says;  'some  kind  of  an  Injun,  I  'spose.  But  you're 
dressed  jist  like  the  folks  I  saw  marched  through  the 
streets  las'  Christmas  that  they  sayd  was  Injun-sargents, 
from  way  off  West  som'ers.  I  thought  mebbe  you  was 
one  of  them  kind  of  Injuns." 

"Ha!  Ha!  God  bless  her  curly  pate!  No,  no,  little 
sweetheart,  siz  I.  A'm  not  an  Injun-sargent,  nor  anny 
other  kind  of  an  Injun.  A'm  jist  one  of  Capt.  Jock  Lati- 
mer's  scouts.  An'  we're  the  folks  'at  fought  the  Injuns, 
an'  kep'  'em  from  comin'  acrost  the  mountains  an'  skulpin' 
all  you  Quakers. 

"Then  the  blue-eyed  lass  laughed  out  loud  and  clear. 
'Ha,  ha!'  siz  she  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eye.  'I'm 
not  a  Quaker.  I'm  a  Presbyterian!  An'  I  belong  to  Mr. 


THE   LATIMEKS.  551 

Ewing's.  He  says  I'm  a  little  blue-stockin'.  I  dunno 
why,  for  I  never  wore  'em  in  my  life.  But  you're  got  on 
blue  stocking  haint  you,  Mister?' 

"So  A'  have,  siz  I,  laughin'  hearty;  an'  good,  warm, 
home-grown  wool,  at  that.  An'  so  you're  a  Presbyterian, 
are  ye?  God  bless  ye,  then!  that's  jist  what  A'  am  maself. 
Do  you  know  your  quistions,  A'  asts, — your  Catechiz? 
'Not  all  of  'em,'  siz  she,  spakin'  up  chirkey.  'But  I'm  a 
gon'  tuh!  I'm  mos'  half  through;  but  I  git  awful  stuck 
on  " Who's  the  Eedeemer  of  God's  elect?"  an'  "Effectual 
callin'."  Do  you  know  them,  Mister?'  Well,  siz  I,  kindeh 
dodgin'  her  quistion  like,  Here's  good  luck  to  you!  So 
A'  shuk  hands  with  the  little  maid,  an'  cam'  away  with  my 
laylocks." 

Mr.  Reid  sat  down  in  high  spirits.  He  was  greatly 
pleased  with  the  issue  of  John's  trial,  and  bubbled  over 
with  quips  and  anecdotes  and  bright  sayings,  and  quoted 
bits  of  Latin  for  John's  especial  benefit.  Andy  caught  the 
contagion,  and  being  particularly  anxious  to  ease  his 
friend's  disappointment,  let  his  gayety  run  at  full  tap. 
Ere  the  dessert  came  on,  Mr.  Reid  declared  that  his  sides 
were  sore  from  laughing. 

"If  good  digestion  waits  upon  good  spirits  and  good 
fellowship,"  he  remarked,  "this  will  be  the  best  digested 
meal  I  have  eaten  in  a  twelvemonth.  Ah,  Capt.  Latimer, 
those  old  Romans  understood  the  secret  of  happy  and 
wholesome  dining.  ISfext  to  a  good  meal,  yes,  and  doubt 
less  before  a  good  meal,  a  sane  man  ought  to  prefer  jovial 
friends  at  his  table.  You  know  what  Horace  says:  'Nil  ego 
contulerim  jocundo  sanus  amico/ '' 

"Aha!"  he  said  again,  in  response  to  a  remark  which 
John  had  made,  evidently  to  call  him  out  on  the  subject; 
"so  you  have  found  out  who  the  fair  unknown  is?  Well, 
well!  It  was  a  little  conspiracy  among  the  ladies  and  your 
friends  to  throw  you  off  the  trail.  "  At  least  to  mystify  you 
a  little.  I  suspect  they  did  throw  a  bit  of  dust  into  your 
eyes,  hey,  Mr.  Scout?" 

John  made  no  reply. 

"She's  a  wonderful  woman,  is  that  Miss  McCormack," 
Mr.  Reid  went  on.  "If  she's  a  fair  sample  of  your  Western 
ladies,  our  Eastern  belles  must  look  out  for  their  laurels. 
A  different  type  from  Miss  Oldham,  now.  Entirely  differ 
ent!  But  they're  both  beauties.  And  both  splendid  speci- 


552  THE   LATIMEKS. 

mens  of  womanhood.  But  Miss  Fanny  takes  the  lead 
there,  according  to  my  thinking.  Character?  She's  a 
born  diplomat  and  manager.  As  comely  as  she  is  deft,  and 
as  strong  as  comely.  There  were  lively  times  at  the  Old- 
ham  mansion  when  she  was  here,  I  can  tell  you.  At  least 
half  a  dozen  of  our  Philadelphia  beaux  have  lost  tkeir 
hearts  to  her.  They're  still  toasting  the  'Fair  Insurgent' 
and  the  'Wild  Eose  of  the  Monongahela'  at  all  the  bache 
lor  dinners.  By  the  way,  gentlemen,  let  us  do  the  honors. 
Here's  to  the  health  of  the  Captain's  unknown  friend! 

"You'll  have  to  look  out,  Capt.  Latimer.  There'll  be 
a  migratory  wave  of  Quaker  City  bachelors  flowing  over 
the  Alleghenies  before  the  summer  is  over.  You  must  try 
not  to  be  jealous.  And  no  duels,  mind  you!  Nothing 
more  serious  than  wraslin',  at  least.  Hey,  Mr.  Burbeck? 
You  musn't  give  away  that  favorite  twister  of  the  Cap 
tain's  that  you  commended  to  Mr.  Rawle  at  the  trial. 
Ha,  ha!" 

"By  the  way,  I  didn't  know,  at  one  time,  but  Miss  Old- 
ham  might  be  jealous  of  her  Western  guest.  But  that's  all 
right  now.  She's  fairly  caught  at  last.  Mrs.  Reid  has  just 
been  telling  me  that  her  engagement  to  Capt.  Ruel  Burd 
has  been  announced.  They're  to  be  married  early  in  the 
autumn.  Well,  they  are  a  worthy  pair  and  well  mated. 
Capt.  Burd  is  a  fine  character.  A  splendid  gentleman. 
The  Oldham  family  never  had  any  objection  to  him,  I  be 
lieve,  except  that  he  is  not  a  man  of  fortune.  But  dear 
me!  What  does  that  matter?  Miss  Blanche  has  enough 
for  both.  And  here's  wishing  her  happiness!  Gentlemen, 
join  me  in  the  toast." 

The  little  lawyer  ran  on  with  his  chatter  and  gossip, 
and  took  no  note  that  the  cheeks  of  his  host  had  suddenly 
paled,  and  that  he  sought,  while  responding  to  the  toast, 
to  hide  the  sudden  pain  that  shot  across  his  face,  behind 
the  glass  that  he  lifted  to  his  lips.  Andy  felt  by  the  jar 
on  the  table  the  shock  that  had  come  to  his  friend.  With 
the  instincts  of  the  true  gentleman  that  underlay  his  rough 
exterior,  he  did  not  raise  his  eyes  toward  him,  but  turning 
quickly  to  Mr.  Reid,  launched  upon  an  amusing  story, 
which  left  John  unobserved  and  unsuspected  to  regain  his 
self-control,  which  he  did  with  a  mighty  effort.  John  per 
ceived  the  kindly  device,  and  his  heart  warmed  with  grati 
tude  toward  his  humble  friend. 


THE   LATIMEKS.  553 

At  last  the  dinner  was  over.  When  the  clock  struck 
nine,  Mr.  Eeid  protested  with  genuine  surprise  that  he 
could  not  believe  that  the  night  had  so  far  advanced.  He 
must  away  home.  His  good  wife  was  lonely,  and  liked  not 
that  he  keep  late  hours. 

"Before  you  go,  Mr.  Eeid,"  John  began,  "there's  an 
item  of  business  to  transact.  If  you  will  excuse  me,  as 
another  opportunity  may  not  serve,  I  would  like  to  settle 
my  account  with  you  for  your  legal  services.  My  friend 
Andy  has  brotght  me  a  goodly  sum  from  the  sale  of  my 
horses  and  other  belongings,  enough  I  hope  to  satisfy  your 
just  dues.  But  if  that  does  not  suffice,  he  bears  also  a  well- 
filled  purse  from  my  mother." 

"As  you  please!"  said  Mr.  Eeid;  and  after  a  brief  count 
ing  up  of  columns,  and  comparing  of  notes,  that  matter 
was  settled  to  the  satisfaction  of  both  parties. 

"Now,"  John  continued,  "I  have  a  matter  of  great 
importance  to  myself  in  which  I  ask  your  advice  and  aid." 
Thereupon,  he  told  the  story  of  his  babyhood  as  Mrs.  Lati- 
mer  h#d  related  it.  This  done,  he  brought  out  his  relics, 
the  Bible  and  coral  necklace  and  the  infant  gown. 

Mr.  Eeid  did  not  try  to  conceal  his  surprise  at  this 
revelation.  He  was  highly  excited  as  the  tale  went  on,  ai-d 
when  the  relics  were  produced,  examined  them  with  intense 
interest.  "Strange,  very  strange!"  he  exclaimed.  "No 
name  anywhere.  No  clue  that  I  can  see,  except  the  coat- 
of-arms  on  this  bookplate.  And  that's  very  uncertain, 
for  the  Bible  may  have  been  a  second-hand  purchase.  I 
have  several  old  volumes  in  my  library  with  as  many  coats- 
of-arms.  The  flotsam  of  broken-up  libraries.  Or  chance 
books  brought  over  by  emigrants  and  sold  under  stress, 
and  drifting  through  book  stores  into  our  libraries.  Very 
uncertain!  Have  you  any  theory,  Capt.  Latimer?  You 
must  have  thought  much  about  the  matter." 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  have  a  theory,"  John  answered, 
"except  that  I  feel  sure  the  book  was  not  a  second-hand 
purchase,  as  you  suggest.  Look  at  the  gold  bead  on  the 
necklace.  You  observe  that  it  has  the  same  crest  and  the 
same  motto  as  appear  on  the  bookplate.  That  seems  to 
establish  a  connection  between  the  two,  does  it  not?" 

"You  are  quite  right.  An  acute  reflection!"  Mr.  Eeid 
answered.  He  carefully  studied  the  engraving  on  the  gold 
bead,  and  compared  the  figures  with  those  on  the  book- 


554  THE   LATIMEKS. 

plate.  "Yes,  they  are  quite  the  same.  An  uplifted  arm 
holding  a  naked  sword,  issuing  from  some  kind  of  a  cap  or 
chapeau.  I'm  an  ignoramus  in  heraldry.  Never  thought 
that  my  profession  would  ever  need  to  draw  upon  that 
department  of  human  knowledge.  Ah!  a  lawyer  ought  to 
know  something  of  everything  as  well  as  a  good  deal  of 
some  things.  The  same  motto,  too,  I  observe,  'Honeur 
sans  Bepos.'  Yes,  you  are  quite  right.  The  owner 
of  the  necklace  and  the  owner  of  the  bookplate  were  one. 
But  the  name  is  scratched  out;  no  trace  of  it  left  on  the 
cover.  Is  there  no  name  elsewhere?" 

"There  is  none/'  John  answered.  "There  has  been  a 
name  here,  you  observe,  on  the  title  page.  But  it  has  been 
inked  out  so  thoroughly  that  it  is  impossible  even  to  trace 
a  letter.  There  is  just  one  more  clue.  Beneath  the  name 
is  written  a  date  and  address.  The  date  is  gone.  After 
long  and  careful  study,  I  detect,  or  think  I  do,  the  frag 
ments  of  the  last  three  letters  of  the  address.  They  are 
'hia/  the  closing  letters  of  Philadelphia." 

"A  shrewd  guess.  Scouting  still,  I  see!"  exclaimed  the 
lawyer.  "The  book  was  probably  purchased  here.  The 
parties  seemed  to  have  belonged  to  this  city.  Is  that  what 
you  mean?" 

"Yes.  I  have  no  other  clue  except  two  letters  "M.  M." 
written  here,  you  see,  opposite  this  text  in  a  lady's  hand. 
Now  you  have  my  case,  Mr.  Eeid.  I  am  anxious  to  solve 
the  mystery  that  hangs  over  my  birth.  I  have  little  doubt 
of  my  mother's  death.  My  father  may  be  living,  and  I 
want  to  make  an  effort  to  find  him,  or  at  least  to  find  out 
who  he  was,  and  I  wish  you  to  help  me." 

"I  will,  I  will  most  heartily,"  Mr.  Reid  exclaimed. 
"Thank  you  for  your  confidence.  But  I  fear  I  can  do 
little.  Yet,  who  knows?  I  have  solved  some  perplexing 
mysteries  in  my  day.  Did  you  ever  unravel  an  old  stocking? 
I  have  done  it  often  to  make  a  ball.  You  want  to  pick  out 
the  right  thread  to  start  on.  Then,  a  pull — and,  whirr-r — 
away  it  goes!  Let  me  think!  The  coat-of-arms  on  the  book 
plate  is  our  clue.  Fie!  Fie!  -Why  don't  I  know  more  of 
heraldry?  Who  does  know?  Let  me  think! 

"I  have  it!  Fureka!  There's  my  friend  Elias  Boudi- 
not.  Yes,  and  Charles  Thomson,  the  first  Secretary  of 
Congress.  They  were  on  the  committee  to  devise  the 
Great  Seal  of  the  United  States,  and  I  remember  they 


THE   LATIMERS.  555 

gave  a  lot  of  time  and  pains  to  such  affairs.  They  were 
mousing  over  all  sorts  of  sketches  and  studies  and  samples 
of  coats-of-arms  and  seals.  Mr.  Thomson  is  at  his  country 
seat  on  the  Schuylkill.  But  Mr.  Boudinot  lives  with  Mrs. 
Win.  Bradford  over  here  on  Arch  Street  just  below 
Second.  ^N"ot  far  from  your  friend  Miss  Oldham,  Captain. 
He  is  our  man!  We  will  go  to  him.  I  will  call  to-morrow 
morning  at  nine  o'clock  promptly,  and  we  will  go  over  to 
Mr.  Boudinot's  and  ask  him  to  help  us.  If  he  cannot  do 
it  of  his  own  knowledge,  he  will  know  some  expert  or  other 
to  whom  to  refer  us.  Good  night!  At  nine  o'clock  to 
morrow!  Good  night,  gentlemen!" 

John  hastened  to  his  room.  He  seemed  to  himself  to 
have  lived  a  score  of  years  in  that  one  day.  What  a  day 
it  had  been!  Breakfast  in  a  prison  cell — His  trial — Vindi 
cation — Freedom — Parting  with  the  friends  of  his  cap 
tivity — The  stirring  news  from  Western  friends — Xews 
that  the  old  home  was  broken  up — The  rude  awakening 
from  his  dream  of  Blanche  Oldham's  friendly  interest  in 
his  case — Fanny  McCormack's  sisterly  and  successful  aid 
— The  tidings  of  Blanche  Oldham's  engagement,  the  last 
blow  that  shattered  all  his  hopes  of  love! — The  opening 
up  of  a  possible  clue  to  his  parentage!  Thus  a  destiny  had 
been  crowded  into  a  day.  What  extremes  of  emotion  had 
been  his,  from  the  highest  joys  to  the  depths  of  despair! 

Blanche  Oldham  to  be  married!  All  then  was  over. 
He  threw  himself  upon  a  chair,  and  burying  his  face  within 
his  hands  sobbed  aloud.  Only  twice  before  since  he  was 
a  slip  of  a  boy  had  he  shed  tears, — when  his  father,  Luke 
Latimer,  had  died,  and  when  his  mother  told  him  the 
true  story  of  his  babyhood.  The  tears  relieved  him.  He 
rose  and  walked  the  floor  until  after  midnight.  Then  he 
lay  down  and  slept. 

He  was  up  with  the  sun,  and  went  out  and  strolled 
along  the  banks  of  the  Delaware.  He  hired  a  skiff  from  a 
waterman,  and  pushed  into  the  middle  of  the  stream.  The 
tide  was  flowing  out.  The  current  ran  swiftly.  He  drifted 
down,  down  by  the  city  shops  and  homes;  past  the  shipping 
at  the  wharves,  lightly  plying  his  oars  and  keeping  in  mid 
stream.  The  sun  had  risen  over  the  Jersey  plains,  and  its 
rays  sparkled  and  shimmered  and  rippled  on  the  face  of  the 
river.  They  lit  up  the  spire  of  Christ  Church,  and  the 
old  "Second  Church"  steeple  on  Third  and  Mulberry, 


556  THE    LATIMERS. 

the  State  House  tower,  and  St.  Peter's  spire,  and  the 
front  of  Pine  Street  Church.  He  was  drifting,  drifting! 
Whither?  What  mattered  it?  Had  not  his  life  been  cut 
rudely  loose  from  all  its  old  anchorage? 

He  leaned  over,  and  with  cheeks  resting  on  his  palms 
looked  drearily  back  across  the  stern  of  the  boat  upon  the 
city  from  which  he  was  receding.  A  flash  of  color,  blue, 
white  and  red,  shot  up  into  the  air.  It  waved  and  shim 
mered  in  the  full,  bright  beams  of  the  May  sun.  It  stopped 
suddenly.  It  spread  into  a  broad  band  of  glory  and 
streamed  forth  in  the  wind.  It  was  the  Flag  of  his  Coun 
try,  which  the  janitor  had  just  sent  aloft  upon  the  flag 
staff  of  the  State  House.  At  the  same  moment  Independ 
ence  Bell  gave  tongue,  and  its  joyous  notes  pealed  over  the 
city  and  echoed  from  the  river  banks. 

John's  heart  leaped  within  him  at  the  vision.  He  sat 
erect  upon  the  thwart.  He  grasped  the  oars  firmly  and 
swung  the  boat  about,  setting  the  bow  upstream.  The 
whole  tenor  of  his  feelings  was  changed.  His  combative 
energy  was  roused.  The  tide  and  current  were  against 
him.  Let  them  flow!  He -bent  to  the  oars.  He  threw  all 
his  vigor  into  his  strokes.  The  heavy  skiff  seemed  to  fly 
through  the  water  against  the  tide,  against  the  current, 
until  Pine  Street,  and  Spruce,  Walnut  and  Chestnut  and 
Market,  Arch  and  Vine  Streets  had  been  left  behind. 

The  sailors  and  watermen  and  workmen  on  the  wharves 
looked  at  him  and  wondered.  But  he  did  not  heed  them. 
There  was  a  wild  satisfaction  in  the  exercise  of  his 
strength;  a  joy  in  overcoming  something;  in  making  head 
way  against  obstacles;  in  forcing  his  boat  whither  he  would, 
although  the  forces  of  nature  seemed  to  say  he  should  not. 

At  last  he  stopped  and  turned  his  boat  down  stream, 
and  slowly  paddled  to  the  Market  Street  wharf.  He  was 
flushed  with  heat  and  the  pleasure  of  exercise,  and  sweat 
ing  at  every  pore.  The  fresh  air,  the  bright  sunlight,  the 
cheerful  voices  of  the  morning,  the  ripple  and  plash  of 
the  stream,  the  combat  with  the  tide  and  current  and  the 
sense  of  triumph,  the  stir  of  human  life,  the  natural  buoy 
ancy  of  health  and  youth,  all  wrought  upon  and  wrought 
themselves  into  his  heart. 

He  had  felt  the  wounds  of  grief,  as  was  the  lot  of  man. 
But  only  the  ignoble  would  void  their  grasp  of  duty  and 
service  because  of  that!  The  woman  he  loved,  loved  an- 


THE   LATIMERS.  557 

other.  Well,  that  other  was  worthy  of  her  love1.  She 
would  be  happier  with  him,  because  of  her  love  for  him. 
What  but  selfishness  would  inspire  grief  at  such  an  issue? 
True  love  seeks  the  highest  happiness  of  its  objects,  even 
though  by  the  way  of  self-sacrifice.  If  he  truly  loved 
Blanche  Oldham,  let  him  be  content,  yes,  let  him  be  glad 
that  she  was  happier  with  another  than  she  could  have 
been  with  himself.  God  bless  her,  and — good  bye! 

Farewell  his  dream  of  love!  He  would  hide  his  disap 
pointment  in  the  depths  of  the  forest,  and  learn, — not  to 
forget,  0  no,  never  that! — but  to  do  life's  work  as  duty  and 
honor  showed  the  way,  and  learn  contentment,  even  happi 
ness,  it  might  be,  in  such  paths  as  Providence  should  open 
up.  So  the  inward  conflict  ended,  and  John  Latimer's  full 
manhood  was  once  more  at  the  helm. 

Back  to  the  hotel,  and  after  a  bath  and  breakfast,  he 
was  ready  for  what  the  new  day  might  bring  forth.  He 
greeted  Andy  with  the  usual  heartiness,  a  little  subdued 
and  a  savor  of  sadness  therein;  but  enough  like  the  old- 
time  manner  to  bring  laughter  into  the  honest  fellow's 
eyes  and  set  his  heart  beating  with  pleasure. 


CHAPTER  LVL 

THE  STORY  OF  A  BOOKPLATE. 

Promptly  at  nine  o'clock,  Mr.  Justus  Reid  was  at  the 
Indian  Queen  Tavern,  and  set  forth  with  John  Latimer  to 
the  Bradford  house.  The  two  gentlemen  had  hardly  got 
to  the  library  when  the  door  knocker  again  sounded,  and 
Mr.  Charles  Thomson  was  shown  in,  just  as  Mr.  Boudinot 
himself  entered.  He  had  dropped  in  for  a  few  moments 
on  some  matter  of  business. 

"Most  wonderful  .stroke  of  good  fortune!"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Reid,  when  greetings  had  been  exchanged.  "Nay,  it 
is  almost  providential.  I  count  it  a  happy  omen.  Of  all 
the  men  in  Philadelphia  you  are  the  two  that  I  washed  to 
see  togther.  And  here  you  are!" 

He  related  John's  history,  and  placed  before  his  dis 
tinguished  acquaintances  the  Bible  and  necklace.  "Now 
gentlemen,"  he  continued,  "I  know  something  of  the  law, 


558  THE   LATIMEKS. 

I  hope,  but  heraldry  to  me  is  a  terra  incognita.  Can  you 
help  me  identify  this  bookplate?  Or  at  least  put  me  on  the 
track  of  some  one  who  will  do  so?" 

"I  am  but  a  tyro  in  the  science,"  said  Mr.  Boudinot, 
laughing.  "But  here  is  Mr.  Thomson;  he  is  the  man  of 
authority  you  are  looking  for.  What  little  I  know  of  her 
aldry  I  owe  chiefly  to  him,  having  got  it  by  absorption 
while  we  were  making  up  the  Great  Seal  of  the  United 
States.  What  say  you,  Mr.  Thomson?  Do  you  remember 
anything  of  this  sort?" 

Mr.  Thomson  examined  the  engraving  closely.  "I  think 
I  have  seen  this  before,"  he  said  with  some  hesitation. 
"Where  are  your  notes  and  memoranda  used  in  preparing 
the  seal  of  our  Church  General  Assembly,  a  few  years  ago? 
You  were  much  interested  in  that  as  President  of  the  Trus 
tees,  and  I  gave  you  some  help  in  the  matter.  You  col 
lected  quite  a  lot  of  seals,  emblems  and  coats-of-arms,  and 
I  fancy  I  have  seen  this  engraving  among  them." 

Mr.  Boudinot  went  to  his  library  shelves,  and  after  a 
little  search  found  a  portfolio  of  plates.  He  laid  it  upon 
a  centre  table  and  untied  the  binding  strings.  The  other 
gentlemen  gathered  about  him  and  looked  on  with  eager 
interest  as  he  slowly  turned  over  the  sheets,  making  com 
ments  as  the  various  figures  passed  in  review. 

"Those  look  like  old  friends,"  said  Mr.  Thomson  as  a  lot 
of  national  emblems  were  turned  up.  "There's  Washing 
ton's  seal.  And  that's  Washington's  coat-of-arms.  And 
that's  Washington's  bookplate.  Ah;  Barton's  sketches  for 
the  United  States  Seal!  And  there's  a  copy  of  my  own 
first  rude  sketch!  What's  that?" 

"An  old  Masonic  figure,"  answered  Mr.  Boudinot.  "A 
serpent  on  a  cross,  quite  an  ancient  design.  We  used  that 
\n  preparing  the  device  for  our  Church  seal.  You  remem 
ber  it,  do  you  not?  A  serpent  on  the  cross  lifted  up  in  the 
wilderness." 

Still  he  turned  the  sheets;  now  and  then  giving  the 
titles  of  the  figures.  "Pennsylvania's  coat-of-arms.  The 
seal  of  the  Province  of  Pennsylvania.  Seal  of  the  City  of 
Philadelphia.  New  York  Colonial  seals.  Ah,  these  are 
what  are  we  looking  for!  Here  are  cuts  of  the  coats-of-arms 
borne  by  Philadelphia  gentlemen  and  their  ancestors,  and 
bookplates  of  private  libraries."  All  eyes  were  now  fixed 
upon  the  figures  as  Mr.  Boudinot  slowly  turned  the  plates. 


THE    LATIMERS.  559 

Mr.  Reid  meanwhile  held  John's  Bible  upon  the  table  for 
easy  comparison. 
"There!" 

The  word  fell  at  the  same  moment  from  the  lips  of 
John  and  the  lawyer 

"That's  it!"  cried  Mr.  Thomson  in  the  same  breath. 
"What's  the  name?" 

"Hugh  Montgomery!"  said  Mr.  Boudinot. 

"Major  Montgomery!"  Mr.  Reid  exclaimed.  "To  be 
sure,  I  might  have  known.  Stupid!  I  have  seen  that 
bookplate  in  his  library." 

"That's  the  name!  I  recall  it  now!"  It  was  John  who 
spoke.,  and  with  such  an  emphatic  and  excited  manner  that 
the  others  turned  quickly  toward  him. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Mr.  Reid. 

John  explained  the  cases  of  mistaken  identity  which 
had  so  perplexed  him  at  Carlisle,  and  the  name  that  he  had 
heard,  but  imperfectly,  attached  by  one  of  the  parties  to 
the  title  "Major." 

"Was  the  Major  with  the  Western  army?"  Mr.  Boudinot 
asked. 

"He  was/'  the  lawyer  answered.  "He  went  out  as  one 
of  the  President's  staff,  and  came  back  with  him  from  Bed 
ford.  And  now  that  we  have  the  cue,  look  at  this  young 
man,  gentlemen!  You  both  know  Major  Montgomery. 
What  say  you?" 

"A  striking  likeness!"  Mr.  Boudinot  exclaimed. 

"A  marked  resemblance,  certainly!"  said  Mr.  Thomson. 

"Ay!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Reid.  "The  only  marvel  is  that 
it  didn't  occur  to  me  before.  I  don't  wonder  that  in  a  dim 
light  the  one  man  should  have  been  taken  for  the  other. 
Barring  his  younger  face,  John  Latimer  is  the  duplicate  in 
size,  figure  and  features  of  our  friend  Major  Hugh  Mont 
gomery.  But  come,  gentlemen,  let  us  look  a  little  more 
closely  into  this.  We  have  enough  to  start  on,  but  we  must 
make  sure,  make  sure!  Let  us  compare  the  two  plates." 

"They  are  the  same,  no  doubt  of  it!"  said  Mr.  Thom 
son.  "In  both,  the  shield  is  parted  quarterly,  as  you  see, 
the  first  and  fourth  quarters  azure,  with  three  golden 
fleur-de-lis,  the  historic  Montgomery  arms.  The  second 
and  third  quarters  are  red,  bearing  three  golden  annulets. 
And  here  also  is  the  red  ineseutcheon  with  its  golden 
sword  and  sceptre  crossed.  The  two  engravings  are  un- 


560  THE   LATIMERS. 

doubtedly  impressions  from  the  same  block,  and  this  Bible 
must  have  once  belonged  to  Major  Montgomery's  library." 

"Examine  the  locket,  please/''  said  Joiin.    "Here  it  is." 

Mr.  Thomson  scrutinized  the  figure  on  the  gold  bead. 
"It  is  a  miniature  of  the  crest  on  these  two  bookplates/' 
he  remarked.  "A  dexter  arm  issuing  from  a  chapeau  or 
cap  of  dignity,  and  holding  a  naked  sword.  They  are  the 
same."  The  necklace  now  made  the  circuit  of  the  group, 
and  all  confirmed  Mr.  Thomson's  observation. 

"Was  Major  Montgomery  ever  married?"  asked  Mr. 
Boudinot. 

Mr.  Eeid  hesitated.  "I  know  little  of  his  early  life, 
although  I  attend  to  his  legal  business.  We  have  occa 
sionally  met  one  another  socially;  but  he  is  not  a  society 
man.  He  is  a  widower;  at  least  that  is  the  common  belief, 
but  I  never  heard  him  speak  of  his  domestic  history.  Yet, 
now  that  I  mention  it,  I  remember  to  have  heard  my  wife 
speak  of  some  incident,  something  sad  and  romantic,  that 
befell  his  early  years.  But  the  Major  is  not  a  man  to  en 
courage  talk  about  his  private  affairs." 

"Young  man,  you  will  excuse  me  for  speaking  frankly," 
said  Mr.  Boudinot,  turning  to  John  and  looking  at  him 
gravely.  "You  perhaps  know  enough  of  the  world  to 
understand  that  the  search  upon  which  you  are  bent  may 
uncover  facts  that  most  men  prefer  to  conceal.  Whatever 
Major  Montgomery  may  be  now,  his  youth  may  not  have 
been  blameless.  Supposing,  for  the  moment,  that  you  can 
trace  your  parentage  to  him,  the  discovery  might  give  little 
satisfaction  to  him  and  less  to  you.  A  bar  sinister  on  one's 
escutcheon — " 

John  interrupted.  "Sir,  I  understand  you,  and  thank 
you  for  your  candor.  But  I  would  stake  my  life  on  the 
womanly  purity  of  her  whom  I  believe  to  be  my  mother. 
Look  at  this  Bible!  Since  I  learned  its  true  history,  I  have 
gone  over  it  from  cover  to  cover,  and  have  traced  the 
spiritual  life  of  her  who  doubtless  owned  the  book,  by  its 
marked  texts  and  passages.  Look  at  this  text  opposite  to 
which  are  written  her  initials  'M.  M.?  'When  my  father 
and  my  mother  forsake  me,  then  the  Lord  will  take  me 
up.'  Look  at  this  one! — turning  rapidly  over  the  leaves 
of  the  New  Testament  to  Matthew  11:  28-30— 'Come  unto 
me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give 
you  rest/  No  woman  whose  soul  was  anchored  upon  such 


THE   LATIMERS.  561 

hopes  as  these,  and  could  set  up  such  landmarks  of  her 
inward  life,  could  be  aught  but  a  good  woman.  I  would 
pledge  my  life  that  her  honor  was  unsullied,  and  that  I  was 
born  in  lawful  wedlock.  But,  gentlemen,  were  it  other 
wise,  I  would  desire  to  know  the  truth.  The  reality  cannot 
be  worse  than  the  suspicion.  I  would  not  wish  to  pass 
among  my  fellow-men  for  wh^t  I  am  not.  If  the  sinister 
bar  is  on  my  shield,  I  would  count  it  false  and  dishonorable 
to  wish  to  hide  the  fact  from  myself  or  from  others,  and  go 
through  life  under  false  colors." 

"Very  well,  then!"  said  Mr.  Boudinot,  looking  at  John 
with  a  pleased  expression.  "It  shall  be  as  you  wish;  and 
whatever  the  issue  your  sentiments  are  highly  creditable. 
I  hope,  I  almost  believe  you  are  right  as  to  your  mother. 
Major  Montgomery's  office  is  not  far  from  here  on  Market 
Street.  He  has  been  ill,  and  confined  to  his  house  since 
New  Year,  but  is  now  able  to  look  after  his  affairs,  and  I 
daresay  will  be  found  at  his  desk.  I  will  send  for  him." 

He  summoned  a  waiter  and  despatched  him  with  a 
note,  saying  that  Messrs.  Boudinot  and  Thomson  would 
be  glad  to  see  him  without  delay  on  business  of  the  utmost 
importance.  In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Reid  and  John  wTere 
asked  to  wait  in  the  adjoining  room  while  Mr.  Boudinot 
and  his  friend  arranged  their  personal  business.  The 
messenger  soon  returned  saying  that  Major  Montgomery 
would  attend  immediately.  In  a  little  while  the  gentleman 
was  announced,  and  ere  he  was  shown  into  the  library,  Mr. 
Justus  Reid  was  called  in,  John  being  told  to  bide  where 
he  was  until  summoned. 

"AYe  have  sent  for  you  on  a  matter  of  some  delicacy," 
said  Mr.  Boudinot.  "And  at  the  outset,  I  must  crave  your 
indulgence  if  we  seem  to  be  intruding  upon  personal  and 
it  may  be  sacred  affairs.  But  it  seems  to  be  our  duty  to 
proceed.  Do  you  recognize  this  bookplate?"  he  asked, 
handing  the  little  Bible  to  the  Major. 

"Of  course,"  was  the  response,  "it  is  my  own.  My 
family  coat-of-arms,  sir.  But  how  came  it — " 

"Look  at  the  book  itself,"  Mr.  Boudinot  continued, 
"and  see  if  you  recognize  it.  Look  carefully." 

Major  Montgomery  stood  by  the  centre  table,  slowly 

turning  over  the  leaves.     John  had  placed  a  bookmark 

between  the  pages  containing  the  passage  marked  with  the 

initials  M.  M.    Thereat  the  Major  paused.     He  read  the 

36 


g^>  THE   LATIMERS. 

text.  He  noticed  the  letters,  and  raised  the  book  to  his  face 
to  examine  them  more  closely.  A  flush  of  recognition 
passed  over  his  countenance,  an  expression  of  pleasure  fol 
lowed  by  one  of  pain.  The  bright  color  in  his  cheeks  slowly 
faded  out.  He  looked  up  and  cast  a  searching  glance  upon 
the  three  men,  who  were  intently  watching  him.  Then  he 
dropped  his  eyes,  and  having  again  scanned  the  letters, 
hurriedly  turned  back  to  the  title  page,  and  scrutinized  it 
carefully.  The  book  trembled  in  his  hands  as  he  looked 
up  once  more,  and  asked  with  a  voice  broken  with  emotion: 
"Gentlemen,  where  did  you  get  this  book?" 

"First  tell  us,  please,"  said  Mr.  Justus  Eeid,  now  taking 
up  the  case,  "if  you  recognize  the  volume?" 

"I  do,  I  do!"  said  the  Major  with  emotion.  "Yes, 
though  it  is  many  years  ago — but  there  can  be  no  doubt  of 
it!  It  is  a  pocket  Bible  which  I  gave  my  young  bride 
twenty-three  years  ago.  It  is  associated  with  the  sweetest 
joys  and  deepest  sorrows  of  my  life.  It  disappeared  sud 
denly  after  her  death.  It  was  lost,  as  I  supposed — " 

"Stop!  Before  you  go  further,  look  at  this!"  said  Mr. 
Reid,  and  placed  in  his  hand  the  necklace.  "Did  you  ever 
see  it  before?" 

Major  Montgomery  laid  the  Bible  upon  the  table  and 
eagerly  took  the  necklace  into  his  hand.  He  glanced  at  the 
faded  ribbon  bow  tied  upon  it,  and  nervously  stroked  it 
with  his  fingers.  He  looked  a  moment  at  the  oval  bead 
with  its  engraved  crest  and  raised  his  eyes.  They  were  dim 
with  tears.  His  lips  were  twitching  with  emotion. 

"Great  God!"  he  cried,  and  turned  quickly  toward  Mr. 
Reid.  "How  came  you  upon  this?  0  my  baby  boy!  My 
poor  lost  child!  Sir,  I  know  this  necklace  well.  It  was  a 
gift  from  my  mother,  who  gave  it  fo  me  because  I  had 
worn  it  when  an  infant.  When  my  son  was  born,  I  placed 
it  upon  his  neck.  He  was  lost, — drowned  in  a  fearful 
flood  that  swept  away  my  home  on  the  bank  of  the  Alle 
gheny  near  Pittsburg,  and  the  necklace  was  lost  with  him. 
I  have  never  seen  it  since,  until  I  chanced  to  recognize  it  on 
the  breast  of  a  young  insurgent  last  Christmas.  I  knew  it 
first  by  the  MacKinlay  tartan  on  the  ribbon,  for  my  mother 
was  of  that  clan.  I  tried  to  trace  it,  and  buy  it  from  the  pris 
oner.  I  believed  that  my  child's  body  had  drifted  ashore 
somewhere,  and  had  been  found,  and  the  necklace  taken 
from  it,  and  I  wished  to  know  how  it  had  come  into  this 


THE   LATIMERS. 

person's  possession.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  would  "be  a 
satisfaction  to  learn  whether  the  little  body  had  been  found, 
<md  where  it  is  buried." 

"Why  did  you  give  up  your  search?"  asked  Mr.  Reid. 

"I  did  not.  But  soon  after  Christmas  I  was  taken  sick, 
and  my  quest  was  suspended  until  my  recovery.  A  week 
ago,  I  again  set  my  agent  upon  the  track.  I  have  heard 
nothing  of  the  matter  since.  And  the  Bible?  Yes,  that 
must  have  been  picked  up  with  the  drift  of  the  deluge. 
But  how  came  they  together?  And  how  came  they  into 
your  hands?" 

He  spoke  rapidly,  his  voice  quivering  with  the  intensity 
of  his  feelings  as  the  melancholy  events,  so  suddenly  and 
strangely  recalled,  passed  before  his  mind. 

"Be  seated,  Major;"  said  Mr.  Boudinot,  seeing  how 
deeply  his  friend  wras  affected.  "There,  compose  yourself! 
Mr.  Reid  has  something  further  to  communicate.  He  will 
explain  all.  Perhaps,  he  may  have  some  good  news  to  tell 
you.  Compose  yourself,  sir!  Gentlemen,  be  seated/' 

The  good  man  had  evident  need  of  the  advice  which  he 
gave,  for  his  feelings  were  profoundly  stirred.  The  other 
gentlemen  were  equally  moved.  The  little  lawyer,  to  dis 
guise  his  emotion,  drew  out  his  snuff-box,  thumped  the 
top  vigorously,  opened  it,  snapped  the  lid  to,  and  returned 
it  to  his  vest  pocket  quite  forgetting  to  partake  of  the  con 
tents.  Then  he  told  of  John's  rescue  by  Luke  Latimer  and 
the  Bended  Knee,  and  recited  his  history  up  to  the  present. 

Major  Montgomery  started  to  his  feet  in  a  tremor  of 
excitement. 

"My  child  lives?"  he  cried.  "Can  it  be  possible?  Gra 
cious  God,  Thou  art  indeed  merciful!  Only  this  morning 
I  read  the  account  of  Capt.  Latimer's  trial  and  vindication. 
I  was  pleased  that  any  innocent  man  should  be  set  free,  but 
not  especially  concerned.  And  to  think  that  he  is  my  lost 
child!"  He  paused,  almost  overcome  by  his  emotions.  "But 
gentlemen,  stop!  Are  we  not  taking  too  much  for  granted? 
This  all  seems  plausible.  But  is  it  proof?  Full  proof,  sat 
isfactory  proof?  May  I  depend  upon  it  confidently? 
Something  more,  it  seems  to  me,  must  be  required  before  I 
can  be  sure  of  a  matter  of  such  vital  importance  to  me." 

"Well,  there  is  something  more.  There's  a  good  deal 
more,  in  fact,"  said  Mr.  Reid,  rising  and  crossing  the  library 
floor,  He  opened  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  John  had 


564  THE    LATIMERS. 

been  waiting,  and  returned  leading  him  by  the  arm.  He 
brought  him  up  to  Major  Montgomery,  and  taking  that 
gentleman  by  the  arm  also,  led  the  two,  one  on  either  side, 
to  a  large  pier  glass  at  one  end  of  the  library.  Then  he 
stepped  away  and  left  the  two  men  standing  side  by  side 
looking  at  the  two  images  that  faced  them  from  the  mirror. 

The  same  height,  six  feet  two  inches!  The  same  broad 
shoulders.  The  same  tapering  trunk  and  straight,  shapely 
legs.  The  same  hand,  large  yet  nervous  looking,  and  with 
broad  squarish  finger  tips.  The  same  fair  complexion;  the 
same  curling  chestnut  hair,  except  that  through  the  scat 
tered  locks  of  the  elder  there  were  threads  of  gray.  No  one 
spoke.  The  three  gentlemen  looked  on  at  the  two  stalwart 
figures  and  the  two  reflected  images  thereof,  and  awaited 
results. 

"My  son,  my  son!  Great  God,  it  must  be  my  son!"  the 
Major  exclaimed,  and  reached  out  his  hands.  John  grasped 
them  warmly,  and  the  two  men  stood  looking  into  each 
others  faces.  Their  hearts  were  bounding  with  unutterable 
emotion.  But  there  was  no  embrace.  That  eager,  silent 
hand  grasp,  the  trembling  voice,  the  quivering  lips,  the 
tear-dimmed  eyes,  uttered  all.  It  was  not  in  the  blood  of 
their  race,  even  in  a  supreme  moment  like  that,  to  make 
greater  demonstration  of  what  was  passing  within. 

Mr.  Boudinot  advanced.  "Gentlemen,  I  wish  you  joy! 
Major  Montgomery,  I  congratulate  you.  God  has  given 
you  back  your  child.  It  is  indeed  wonderful!" 

"Ay,"  said  the  Major,  grasping  his  hand,  "Blessed  be 
His  Name!" 

Mr.  Thomson  gave  his  hearty  greetings,  and  then  Mr. 
Justus  Eeid. 

"You  are  satisfied,  Major,  I  hope?"  said  the  lawyer. 
"You  have  reason  to  be.  The  proof  is  unquestionable. 
I  have  not  the  least  doubt  myself  of  the  identity  of  this 
stalwart,  noble  fellow  with  your  lost  child.  The  case  would 
stand  in  any  court  of  law  in  Christendom.  And,  sir,  let 
me  say,  you  have  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the 
result.  I  know  something  of  this  young  man.  Any  father 
might  be  proud  of  him.  He's  a  chip  off  the  old  block, 
sir.  A  second  edition;  ay,  and  meaning  no  disparagement 
to  yourself,  revised  and  if  anything  a  little  improved." 

"I  am  satisfied!"  Major  Montgomery  replied.  "Yes,  I 
believe  I  am  fully  satisfied.  Yet,  there  is  one  thing  else 
I  think  of,  that  would  clinch  and  confirm  all." 


THE   LATIMERS.  565 

"What  is  it,  sir?"  asked  Mr.  Reid. 

"I  remember  little  of  my  infant,  of  course/'  the  Major 
resumed.  "He  was  so  young  and  small,  and  I  was  ignorant 
of  fcuch  matters.  But  L  recollect  that  the  Scotch  nurse  who 
had  charge  of  the  babe  and  was  lost  in  the  flood  that  swept 
him  away,  pointed  out  a  birthmark  on  the  bairn  that  seemed 
to  me  very  curious.  It  was  a  crescent-shaped  mole  on  the 
left  foot.  I  often  looked  at  it  afterwards,  for  I  loved  to 
hold  the  wee,  soft  pink  feet  in  my  hand,  and  thus  came 
to  remember  it.  Such  birthmarks  I  believe  never  disap 
pear." 

"On  what  part  of  the  foot  was  it  placed?''  asked  John. 

"At  the  side  of  the  instep,  just  about  midway  of  the 
heel  and  toes." 

"Gentlemen,  will  you  excuse  me  if  I  uncover  my  foot?" 
John  asked. 

"Certainly!"  said  Mr.  Boudinot.    "Do  it  at  once." 

John  kneeled  upon  the  floor,  unlaced  the  left  shoe, 
unbuckled  the  stocking,  and  stripped  it  off  the  leg  display 
ing  the  naked  foot.  All  the  gentlemen  bent  eagerly  for 
ward  to  look.  The  half  moon-shaped  mole  was  there! 

"It  is  enough!"  cried  Major  Montgomery.  "Gentle 
men,  I  take  you  to  witness  that  this  is  my  son  and  heir. 
I  doubt  no  longer.  God  be  praised!"  He  once  more  grasped 
John's  hand  and  pressed  it  warmly. 

"It  is  past  ten  o'clock,"  said  Mr.  Thomson.  "Yet  I  am 
sure  we  all  would  like  to  hear  so  much  of  Major  Mont 
gomery's  life  as  may  complete  the  remarkable  and  romantic 
disclosures  of  this  morning;  provided,  of  course,  the  Major 
has  no  objection  to  the  narration." 

Mr.  Reid  seconded  the  suggestion,  and  added  that  such 
a  statement  would  really  be  necessary  to  connect  and 
explain  all  the  facts. 

"I  have  not  the  least  objection,  gentlemen,"  said  Major 
Montgomery.  "Indeed  I  think  you  ought  to  know  all. 
I  have  nothing  to  conceal,  though  much  to  regret  and 
much  to  mourn.  I  am  an  Irishman  by  birth,  although  of 
pure  Scotch  ancestors,  and  my  family  is  a  younger  branch 
of  the  noble  house  of  Montgomery.  At  my  majority,  as 
my  preferences  were  for  the  army,  my  father  bought  me  a 
Lieutenant's  commission,  and  I  was  sent  out  to  the  Ameri 
can  Colonies.  In  the  early  seventies,  I  was  ordered  to 
Philadelphia.  I  was  fond  of  society;  and  as  his  Majesty's 


566  THE   LATIMEKS. 

officers  were  welcome  guests  and  visitors  in  the  best  Colo 
nial  families,  I  soon  found  many  pleasant  acquaintances. 
Among  the  young  ladies  whom  I  met  was  one  in  whom 
I  became  greatly  interested.  The  interest  was  mutual,  and 
ere  long  deepened  into  a  mutual  affection. 

"I  informed  the  father  of  my  love  for  his  daughter,  and 
asked  to  be  recognized  as  a  suitor  for  her  hand.  He  was 
satisfied  with  my  family  standing  and  character,  but  denied 
my  plea.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  and 
I  a  member  of  the  Scotch  Kirk.  He,  as  a  Quaker,  was 
opposed  to  war.  I  was  a  warrior  by  profession.  He  had 
a  third  reason  which  I  afterwards  learned.  The  troubles 
between  the  British  Government  and  the  American  Colo 
nies  had  already  begun  to  foment,  and  he  was  a  determined 
patriot  and  partisan  of  the  Colonies;  while  I,  of  course,  as 
one  of  his  Majesty's  officers  was  necessarily  on  the  other 
side.  These  facts  made  a  series  of  incompatibilities  too 
formidable  to  be  overcome.  In  view  of  the  circumstances, 
my  suit  was  not  only  rejected,  but  I  was  asked  to  discon 
tinue  my  visits  to  the  family. 

"Of  course,  I  was  greatly  broken  up  by  this  decision, 
but  tried  to  submit.  Yet  I  could  not  forget  the  young 
lady.  I  loved  her  too  sincerely  and  deeply  for  that;  and  I 
found  that  she  was  as  much  grieved  over  the  matter  as  I, 
and  as  persistent  in  her  love.  Why  should  I  dwell  on  what 
followed?  A  painful  and  hopeless  effort  to  change  the 
purpose  of  the  parents  at  last  ended  in  a  clandestine  mar 
riage,  or  rather  a  runaway  match.  I  had  a  small  patri 
mony,  which  with  my  pay  as  a  Lieutenant  seemed  to  justify 
me  in  taking  a  wife.  At  least,  I  was  able  to  support  one 
in  a  modest  fashion.  I  do  not  attempt  to  justify  my  act. 
As  I  look  at  it  now,  it  wrought  a  great  wrong  to  one  whom 
I  truly  loved.  Her  Church  and  her  family  disowned  her. 
As  she  was  a  woman  of  a  most  affectionate  and  domestic 
nature  and  deeply  attached  to  her  kindred,  this  alienation 
nearly  broke  her  heart. 

"She  had  hoped  and  believed  that  her  parents  would 
soon  relent  and  be  reconciled;  but  they  were  unyielding. 
My  family  also  were  greatly  displeased  with  my  act,  but  I 
never  told  my  wife  of  that.  Had  it  not  been  for  this  trou 
ble,  we  would  have  been  perfectly  happy.  Even  with  that 
cloud  hanging  over  us,  I  look  back  to  those  days  as  the 
sweetest  and  brightest  of  my  life/' 


THE   LATIMERS.  567 

"You  have  not  mentioned  the  lady's  name,  Major/' 
said  Mr.  Reid.  "Have  you  any  objection  to  do  so?" 

"Certainly  not!"  was  the  reply.  "It  was  Mercy  Rhodes. 
She  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Jonathan  Rhodes,  a  wealthy 
and  influential  tea  merchant.  He  had  but  two  daughters, 
Mercy  and  Rebecca." 

"Jonathan  Rhodes!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Reid.  "Then  she 
must  have  been  the  sister  of  Mrs.  Rebecca  Oldham." 

"She  was,"  the  Major  answered.  "The  gentleman  had 
only  two  children;  daughters  both.  Rebecca  was  the 
younger,  and  is  now  the  only  surviving  member  of  the 
family.  She  also  married  out  of  meeting  as  her  sister 
Mercy  had  done;  but  though  the  Society  of  Friends  dis 
owned  her,  her  parents  did  not.  Their  sad  experience 
with  their  eldest  daughter  had  softened  their  hearts 
and  perhaps  had  enlightened  their  minds.  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  they  bitterly  deplored  their  course 
with  us.  Perhaps,  had  Mercy  lived  longer  they  would  have 
relented.  But  I  had  no  communication  with  them,  except 
to  inform  them  of  their  daughter's  death  and  of  the  death 
of  our  infant.  They  never  made  approaches  of  any  sort 
to  me,  nor  I  to  them,  and  the  alienation  has  continued 
with  the  Rhodes'  connection." 

"According  to  that,  then,"  said  Mr.  Reid,  turning  to 
John,  "you  are  a  full  cousin  of  Blanche  Oldham  and  Col. 
Neville;  for  Rebecca  Rhodes  married  the  youngest  brother 
of  Gen.  Neville's  wife." 

John  who  had  followed  the  narrative  with  keen  inter 
est,  started  and  flushed  deeply,  but  said  nothing,  and  his 
father  resumed  his  story. 

"In  the  autumn  of  1772,  I  was  ordered  to  Fort  Pitt  on 
special  duty.  The  Colonies  were  then  almost  in  a  condi 
tion  of  revolt  over  the  revenue  laws,  and  the  Ministry 
were  anxious  concerning  the  condition  of  the  frontier 
posts,  and  of  the  probable  attitude  of  the  Indian  tribes  in 
case  of  armed  resistance.  I  was  to  consult  with  the  Com 
mandant  at  Fort  Pitt  about  these  matters,  and  to  forward 
whatever  negotiations  might  be  thought  necessary. 

"My  young  wife  insisted  upon  going  with  me,  and  I 
was  willing  enough,  for  I  knew  that,  cut  off  as  she  was 
from  her  kindred,  she  would  be  wretched  in  Philadelphia. 
It  was  a  rough  journey  at  that  early  day;  but  we  had  a 
strong  escort  and  pleasant  fellow-travellers,  and  the  glory 


568  THE    LATIMERS. 

of  the  American  October  was  upon  the  landscape.  Every 
thing  was  strange  and  new,  which  made  the  trip  a  con 
tinual  pleasure  to  us  both.  We  reached  Fort  Pitt  in  No 
vember,  1772,  and  I  at  once  reported  to  the  commander. 
Among  the  villagers,  however,  I  was  known  as  a  Mr. 
Eglinton,  engaged  in  establishing  trading  posts  for  a  Fur 
Company.  I  bought  a  bit  of  land  and  built  a  cabin  on  the 
banks  of  a  little  stream  called  Two  Mile  Eun,  that  flows 
into  the  Allegheny  River. 

"Here  we  spent  a  happy  winter,  though  at  times  it  wa? 
lonely  enough  for  Mercy,  for  my  duties  compelled  me  to 
make  several  long  journeys  into  the  backwoods.  But  I  had 
brought  with,  me  a  steady  middle-aged  Scotchwoman 
named  Jane  Campbell,  who  was  a  most  faithful  companion 
and  attendant,  and  to  whom  I  could  confidently  commit 
the  care  of  her  whom  I  held  dearest. 

"In  May,  1773,  our  child  was  born.  A  few  bright  days 
followed.  How  happy  the  little  mother  was,  and  how 
proud  of  her  fine,  big  baby  boy!  But  soon  she  sickened 
with  fever,  and  in  two  weeks  after  the  baby's  birth,  I 
buried  her  in  the  graveyard  of  the  First  Church,  whose 
site  adjoins  that  of  Trinity  Church  in  the  plot  of  ground 
granted  to  those  congregations  by  the  Penn  proprietors. 

"Two  weeks  afterwards,  while  I  was  at  the  Fort,  a 
storm  suddenly  arose.  I  hurried  homeward,  but  ere  reach 
ing  the  cabin  my  course  was  stayed  by  such  a  downpour  as 
I  had  never  seen.  A  cloudburst  had  broken  above  the 
hills,  and  the  little  Run  that  threaded  so  quietly  the 
meadow  before  my  door  had  become  in  a  few  moments  an 
angry  torrent.  When  at  last  I  reached  a  point  where  I 
could  look  upon  the  site  of  my  cabin,  I  saw  only  a  broad 
sheet  of  fiercely  running  water.  Not  a  trace  of  my  home 
remained.  That  hour  and  that  spot  are  wrought  into  my 
memory  so  deeply  by  the  awful  agony  of  my  soul,  that  T 
recall  the  whole  scene  as  vividly  as  if  it  had  happened 
yesterday.  I  could  only  stand  helplessly  there  in  the  rain 
and  wind,  and  gaze  at  the  flood  raging  before  me,  and  toss 
my  arms  wildly  and  cry  out  for  my  child.  I  seemed  for 
saken  of  God.  I  was  tempted  in  my  misery  to  rush  into 
the  cruel  waters,  and  let  them  engulf  me  also.  But  hope, 
the  barest  shadow  of  a  hope  that  something  might  have 
happened,  withheld  me.  Perhaps,  the  good  Scotch  nurse 
to  whose  care  the  baby  had  been  entrusted,  might  have 
foreseen  the  flood  and  escaped  in  time? 


THE   LATIHERS.  569 

"Alas!  It  was  a  vain  hope.  When  the  waters  went 
down,  which  they  did  almost  as  quickly  as  they  had  arisen, 
not  a  fragment  of  my  house  remained.  The  whole  home 
stead  from  the  cabin  to  the  border  of  the  stream  was  a  level 
of  yellow  mud.  We  found  nurse  Campbell's  naked  body 
wedged  between  the  branches  of  a  tree.  A  neighbor  whose 
cabin  was  on  the  hill  opposite  us  had  seen  her  shortly  be 
fore  the  cloud-burst  sitting  in  the  open  porch  reading 
and  rocking  the  cradle  beside  her.  When  the  flood  began 
to  roll  down  the  ravine,  fearing  for  our  cabin,  which  stood 
upon  the  flat,  this  neighbor  ran  out  to  look.  He  saw  Jane 
running  towards  the  stable,  and  stopping  at  the  door  as  if  to 
open  it.  Then  a  mighty  wall  of  water  intervened,  and  he 
saw  no  more. 

"We  inferred  that  the  nurse,  seeing  the  waters  come  up 
to  the  stable  which  stood  much  nearer  to  the  run,  and  hav 
ing  no  idea  of  what  had  happened,  and  perceiving  -that  the 
cattle  might  be  made  uncomfortable,  had  run  to  open  the 
door  and  let  them  out,  intending  to  come  back  to  the  child. 
But  the  flood  overtook  her. 

"The  edge  of  the  torrent,  pushing  up  toward  the  hill 
side,  must  have  lifted  up  the  cradle  with  the  sleeping  child 
within  it  and  the  Bible  where  Jane  Campbell  had  dropped 
it,  and  floated  it  out  of  the  open  porch,  and  borne  it  upon 
the  quieter  margin  of  the  inundation  to  the  river,  and  so  on 
to  the  place  where  the  Latimers  found  it.  It  seems  to  me 
little  less  than  a  miracle  that  it  could  have  been  safely  car 
ried  such  a  distance.  But  I  have  long  ago  learned  that 
the  marvelous  is  a  permanent  factor  both  in  the  preserva 
tion  and  the  destruction  of  human  life.  Above  all — yes,  I 
dare  not  doubt  it!  Some  good  angel  of  God  must  Jiave 
guided  the  little  vessel. 

"Gentlemen,  there  is  little  more  to  tell.  In  a  few  days 
I  left  my  Western  post.  Indeed,  there  was  no  more  for  me 
to  do,  that  I  was  willing  to  do,  and  I  returned  to  the  East. 
By  that  time  the  Boston  Tea  Party,  as  it  is  commonly 
called,  had  occurred,  and  the  country  was  full  of  excite 
ment.  The  British  Government  was  stubbornly  and  blindly 
bent  upon  that  policy  which  eventually  led  to  the  Revolu 
tion. 

"I  was  in  sympathy  with  the  colonists  in  their  conten 
tion  for  liberty,  as  were  many  British  officers,  and  some  of 
the  noblest  and  best  of  the  citizens  of  England  and  Scot- 


570  THE    LATIMEKS. 

land.  Shortly  afterwards  I  received  directions  from  Gen. 
Gage,  then  in  Boston,  to  go  to  the  West  on  secret  service. 
The  instructions  which  I  received  thoroughly  aroused  my 
indignation.  They  were  little  less  than  to  foment  hostili 
ties  among  the  Indian  tribes  against  the  frontier  settle 
ments,  and  to  turn  hordes  of  cruel  savages  upon  the  help 
less  border.  No  doubt  it  was  a  policy  of  diversion  and 
retaliation  which  the  tactics  of  war  may  sometimes  sanc 
tion.  But  my  conscience  and  heart  revolted  against  it.  I 
threw  up  my  commission,  and  when  the  Revolution  began 
in  earnest,  offered  my  sword  to  General  Washington. 

"You  know,  gentlemen,  that  I  served  during  the  war 
with  some  degree  of  fidelity  on  the  side  of  the  colonists,  and 
since  independence  was  won,  I  have  given  myself  to  busi 
ness.  I  have  lived  quietly  and  alone.  I  could  not  quite 
shake  off  the  shock  of  my  double  sorrow.  But  the  old  love 
and  the  old  joy  will  live  again  in  this  resurrection  of  the 
son  whom  I  have  so  long  mourned  as  dead." 


CHAPTEE  LVIL 

FATHEK   AND    SON. 

It  was  a  striking  looking  trio  that  issued  from  the  Brad 
ford  mansion  and  walked  along  Arch  Street  and  down 
Third.  At  Market  Street,  Mr.  Eeid  bade  his  companions 
good  morning,  but  not  before  he  had  received  a  charge  to 
call  soon  at  the  Major's  office,  since  this  day's  disclosures 
had  made  his  professional  services  necessary  in  the  testa 
mentary  disposal  of  certain  properties  and  values. 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure!"  was  the  cordial  response. 
"A  worthy  charity  or  two  may  suffer  by  the  change.  But 
you  are  quite  right,  sir.  Charity  begins  at  home.  And 
(laying  his  hand  upon  John's  arm)  that  blessing  is  now 
yours.  A  man  without  a  family  may  keep  house,  but  can 
not  have  a  home.  Good  bye!  You  have  both  gained  at 
least  an  inch  this  morning,  I  verily  believe.  I  will  be 
utterly  overshadowed  if  I  stay  longer  with  such  sons  of 
Anak.  Au  revoir!" 

He  folded  and  rolled  his  hands  in  a  transport  of  satis 
faction,  and  flung  them  toward  his  stalwart  companions  as 


THE    LATIMERS.  571 

if  for  the  moment  happy  to  toss  such  a  burden  off  his  mind. 
His  clerks  got  a  great  surprise  when  he  reached  his  office. 
Something  extraordinary  happened.  For  a  full  half  hour 
the  lawyer's  books  and  papers  lay  untouched  before  him 
on  the  table,  while  Mr.  Justus  Eeid  sat  in  a  brown  study 
thrumming  the  table  with  his  fingers,  a  look  of  vast  content 
upon  his  face,  and  ever  and  anon  smiling  and  nodding  his 
head  as  though  pleasant  thoughts  were  having  a  merry 
chase  around  his  brain. 

The  senior  clerk  thrust  his  quill  behind  his  ear,  and 
left  his  high  stool  to  submit  to  his  chief  an  important  docu 
ment  which  he  was  copying.  "Beg  pardon,  sir?"  he  said  at 
last,  seeing  that  he  was  unnoticed. 

"Certainly,  certainly!"  said  Mr.  Reid  smiling  at  the 
corner  of  the  ceiling.  "Excellent!"  And  kept  on  softly 
whistling  and  beating  time  with  his  fingers.  Thereat  the 
senior  clerk  wrent  back  to  his  stool,  rubbed  his  bald  poll  in 
perplexity,  smoothed  down  the  green  baize  apron  that  pro 
tected  his  well-rounded  waistcoat,  and  waited. 

"Odd,  this!"  he  muttered.  "I  never  before  saw  the 
chief  even  the  least  bit  0-be-joyful.  And  at  this  time  o' 
day,  too!"  He  shook  his  head  in  solemn  deprecation  of 
such  impropriety. 

"Fuddled,  by  jings!"  quoth  the  junior  clerk  leaning 
across  the  desk  and  eyeing  Mr.  Reid  furtively.  A  broad 
grin  wrinkled  his  cadaverous  face,  for  he  was  delighted  to 
catch  the  chief  in  a  weakness  for  which  he  had  often  taken 
his  clerk  to  task. 

At  last  the  lawyer  pulled  himself  together  with  a  sud 
den  jerk,  and  looked  around  as  one  who  had  just  awak 
ened  from  sleep.  The  keen,  accustomed  business  glance 
came  back  to  his  eyes. 

"Here,  Mr.  Scribely!"  he  exclaimed  briskly.  "We  have 
lost  two  good  hours  this  morning.  AVe  must  buckle  to  it 
now.  Have  you  those  papers  ready?  Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure." 
Then  he  bent  to  the  day's  work;  and  there  was  no  more 
dreaming  until  he  sipped  his  Madeira  after  dinner,  and 
listened  in  an  absent  way  to  Mrs.  Reid's  voluble  comments 
upon  the  rare  news  about  "the  Montgomerys." 

As  for  the  clerks  they  concluded  that  some  strange  mis 
take  had  been  made  in  their  diagnosis  of  the  lawyer's  case. 
Mr.  Scribely  cast  sundry  anxious  looks  towards  the  chiefs 
desk  during  the  day,  and  as  often  shook  his  head  gravely, 


572  THE   LATIMERS. 

"Too  much  head  work!"  he  ejaculated.  "Ah;  there's  a 
brain  for  you!" 

"'Say,  Scribely,"  quoth  the  junior  clerk,  "we  was  all  out 
about  the  chief,  wasn't  we?  Sober  as  a  parson,  by  jings! 
I'm  •  kind-lib,  sorry  for  it,  too.  Just  for  once,  you  know. 
Hey?"  To  which  Mr.  Scribely's  only  response,  his  dignity 
being  offended  by  such  familiar  address,  was  the  queak, 
queak  of  his  goose-quill  pen  as  he  vigorously  drove  it  across 
the  paper. 

John  and  his  father  walked  silently  up  the  street  side 
by  side.  Their  hearts  were  throbbing  with  a  strange  glad 
ness,  the  ecstasy  of  a  new-born  affection.  Friends  and 
acquaintances  of  Major  Montgomery  returned  his  quiet 
but  cordial  greeting  as  they  passed  upon  the  sidewalk;  but 
stopped,  and  looked  back,  and  wondered  to  see  the  Major's 
double  pacing  the  pavement  at  his  side.  That  morning 
John  had  left  off  his  scout's  uniform,  and  donned  a  suit 
in  the  ordinary  fashion  of  the  time,  differing  little  from 
that  which  his  father  wore.  This  change  of  dress  made  the 
likeness  between  the  two  men  more  striking. 

The  Major  would  have  taken  his  son  immediately  home, 
but  John  must  first  have  him  to  the  Indian  Queen,  where  he 
knew  that  Andy  eagerly  awaited  the  outcome  of  the  visit 
to  Mr.  Boudinot.  To  this  the  Major  heartily  consented 
when  he  learned  the  warmth  and  depth  and  fidelity  of 
Andy's  friendship. 

That  worthy  had  grown  somewhat  weary  during  the 
long  delay.  He  had  got  his  few  belongings  together  and 
stowed  within  his  saddle  bags  ready  to  leave  for  the  West 
on  the  next  day  by  the  Pittsburg  stage,  which  had  lately 
been  set  up.  But  that  was  a  brief  service.  He  had  ex 
hausted  the  contents  of  a  pitcher  of  home-brewed  beer; 
which  he  had  hospitably  shared  with  the  landlord.  Then, 
with  time  hanging  heavily  upon  his  hands,  he  betook  him 
to  the  stable.  The  hostler,  and  the  stable  boy,  and  two 
idle  urchins  of  the  sort  wont  to  be  attracted  to  such  a  place 
by  the  savory  odor  of  mews,  were  gathered  about  him,  as 
he  smoked  his  pipe  and  spun  a  yarn  of  Indian  adventure. 
Of  course,  Capt.  Jack  Latimer  figured  therein  promi 
nently,  and  it  is  to  be  feared  not  altogether  accurately. 
But  the  audience  was  none  the  worse  for  Andy's  wide 
swing  of  imagination,  and  the  story  was  doubtless  much 
the  better.  Just  as  the  adventure  had  reached  its  climax 


THE   LATIMERS.  573 

and  close,  the  stable  boy  shouted  with  a  wild  whoop  and 
wave  of  the  horsebrush  over  his  head, 

"There  he  is  now!" 

The  hostler  and  the  two  urchin  amateurs  started  as  if 
some  of  Captain  Jack's  Indians  had  suddenly  appeared, 
and  rushed  pell-mell  to  the  stable  door.  Andy  withdrew 
his  pipe  and  followed:  but  as  he  glanced  toward  the  gate 
way  quickened  his  leisurely  pace  and  brushed  by  the  hostler 
and  his  aids.  He  even  dropped  his  pipe  in  his  excitement 
as  he  ran  through  the  yard.  He  stopped  face  to  face  with 
John  and  his  father.  For  a  moment  not  a  word  was  spoken 
as  Andy  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  subdued  awe 
upon  his  countenance.  Then  with  the  rush  of  gladness 
from  his  heart  solemnity  fled  from  his  face,  and  with  eyes 
gleaming  with  joy,  he  grasped  John's  hand. 

"Ah,  Jock  lad!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  don't  nade  for 
til  say  a  worred.  It  spakes  for  itself.  If  the  gintleman 
were  yourself  you  couldn't  favor  him  a  bit  more  nor  you 
do.  This  must  be  your  father,  my  b'y!  You  have  found 
your  father,  A'm  sure." 

"Yes,  Andy,  you  have  guessed  rightly.  This  is  my 
father,  Major  Hugh  Montgomery." 

"I  am  pleased,  sir,  to  meet  you!"  said  the  Major,  his 
fine,  old-fashioned  manners  fairly  illumined  by  the  hearti 
ness  of  his  feelings  as  he  warmly  shook  Andy's  hand.  "I 
have  already  heard  somewhat  of  your  long  and  faithful 
attachment  to  my  son.  I  thank  you,  sir,  with  all  my  heart, 
and  I  hope  you  will  let  me  have  an  opportunity  to  show  my 
gratitude." 

Andy  was  not  wont  to  be  abashed  in  the  presence  of 
men;  but  his  readiness  and  volubility  for  once  failed  him, 
and  he  stood  bowing  and  blushing  like  a  schoolboy,  and 
teasing  his  hair  with  his  fingers.  John  relieved  his  em 
barrassment  by  bidding  the  party  into  the  house;  and  not 
until  they  were  seated  in  John's  apartment  and  the  Major's 
story  briefly  told,  did  Andy  regain  his  self-possession. 

"What  was  the  name  by  which  you  christened  your 
infant  b'y?"  was  one  of  his  first  questions.  "Faith,  it's  not 
much  of  a  baby  he  is  at  this  prisent;  risin'  sax  feet  two 
inches  an'  still  agrowin',  A'  do  belave."  Strangely  enough 
no  one  had  thought,  at  least  no  one  had  spoken  of  the 
point  which  Andy  raised. 

"What  did  we  name  the  lad?"  the  Major  answered.    "I 


574  THE   LATIMEES. 

had  no  opportunity  to  get  him  christened,  but  we  had 
agreed  upon  a  name.  I  wanted  him  called  Hugh,  an 
honored  family  name  of  the  Montgomerys  for  many 

fenerations,  and  the  mother  readily  consented.  But  the 
ay  before  her  death,  knowing  no  doubt  that  the  end  was 
near,  her  thoughts  turned  often  and  tenderly  to  her  child 
hood's  home.  She  spoke  much  of  her  father,  and  looking 
up  tenderly  at  me  and  then  lovingly  down  at  the  infant  by 
her  side,  she  asked  me  if  I  would  mind  it  very  much  if  the 
laddie  were  named  Jonathan  instead  of  Hugh? — Jonathan 
being  her  father's  name.  'No,  darling,"  I  said,  'no  indeed! 
Have  it  as  you  wish.  Jonathan  it  shall  be.'  I  stooped  and 
kissed  the  pale  little  mother,  and  then  the  wee  red-faced 
laddie.  For  the  two  weeks  that  my  dear  wife  lived,  we 
called  him  naught  but  Jonathan.  And  so  it  is  written  in 
my  Family  Bible,  in  which  I  made  record  of  the  date  and 
day  of  my  marriage,  and  of  Mercy's  death,  and  of  the  sup 
posed  death  of  our  child.  And  there  you  will  see  it,  my 
son,  when  you  go  home.  Ah,  well!"  The  strong  man 
signed,  and  wiped  a  tear  from  his  eyes,  as  indeed  the 
others  did  also.  "But,  thank  God!"  he  continued,  "we  will 
write  an  addendum  thereto;  and  it  will  be  a  happy  event, 
God  be  praised!  And  you,  sir,"  turning  to  Andy,  "must 
come  and  dine  with  us,  and  see  the  record  made." 

Andy  was  highly  pleased  with  the  invitation,  but  with 
generous  thoughtfulness  declined  it.  "No,  no,  you  must 
have  your  first  dinner  your  lones.  Sorry  a  soul  should 
come  atween  you  two  at  sich  a  time.  And  so  the  b'y's 
name  was  Jonathan?  Well,  well!  It's  not  so  far  out  of 
the  way,  for  the  lad  was  christened  John  by  Dr.  McMillan. 
A'  mind  well  when  it  was  done,  for  he  kicked  and  yelled 
brawly  when  the  water  fell  upon  him.  The  gossips 
threaped  Mrs.  Latimer  that  she  had  pinched  the  bairn  to 
make  him  cry;  for,  siz  they,  it's  good  luck  for  a  wean's 
voice  to  be  h'ard  in  the  Kirk  at  it's  bapteesin'.  Jonathan! 
Ay,  the  poor  lettle  mother  had  her  will  after  all;  for  what 
is  John  but  short  for  Jonathan?  Will  ye  be  after  changin' 
the  name,  think  ye?" 

The  Major  laughed  pleasantly,  and  said  they  would 
have  to  settle  that  matter  later.  It  would  hardly  do  to 
have  another  christening;  and  if  they  were  to  venture  on 
such  an  impropriety  "the  infant,"  perhaps,  would  have 
something  to  say  about  the  name.  However,  to  put  that 


THE    LATIMERS.  575 

matter  to  rest  in  the  reader's  mind,  it  may  here  be  stated 
that  no  change  was  ever  made  except  to  add  the  paternal 
name  to  the  old  one,  and  thereafter  our  hero  was  known  as 
John  Latimer  Montgomery.  In  sooth,  however,  among  his 
Western  friends,  it  was  rarely  enough  that  he  was  called 
by  the  new  surname. 

Another  point  that  struck  Andy's  fancy  was  the  connec 
tion  which  John's  new  relationship  established  between 
him  and  the  Nevilles.  "Blanche  Oldham  your  cousin?"  he 
exclaimed,  "an'  first  cousin  at  that!  Faith,  you  might  'a 
gone  furder  for  kin  an'  fared  warse,  Mr.  Jock.  Quare  how 
the  Good  Bein'  brings  things  about!  Who'd  'a  consated, 
whan  you  two  uns  were  first  acquaint  on  that  trip  down 
the  Ohio,  that  ye  were  cousins  all  unbeknownst?  She's  a 
bonny  lass,  is  Miss  Blanche,  an'  worthy  to  have  kinship 
aven  with  John  Latimer, — beggin'  your  pardon!  A'  should 
'a  said  John  Montgomery.  It  sounds  oddly,  disn't  it?  It'll 
be  hard  wark  a-wormin'  my  tongue  around  the  new  name, 
A'  misdoubt." 

"Don't  try  it,  Andy!"  said  John.  "Keep  the  old  name, 
Jock.  I  will  always  be  that  to  you,  dear  old  fellow,  what 
ever  I  may  be  to  others." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  John!"  Andy  responded  with  great 
heartiness.  "A'd  prefar  to  bide  by  the  old  name,  if  it's  all 
the  same  to  you.  We've  good  authority,  indade,  for  sayin' 
that  'the  old  is  better.'  The  new  name's  a  grand  one,  no 
doubt.  Didn't  your  father  Latimer  sarve  a  while  with 
Ginerl  Richard  Montgomery  in  the  war  for  Indepandence? 
Ay,  A'  defy  the  face  o'  clay  to  find  a  better  name  nor  that 
in  the  auld  country  or  in  the  new.  But  an  auld  name  is 
iver  the  tastiest  to  an  auld  friend,  Major  Montgomery. 

"An'  to  think  of  Captain  Jock  bein'  a  cousin  of  Col. 
Presley  Neville!  That's  not  so  bad,  mebbe.  But  there's 
the  auld  Giner'l!  Jock  Latimer  a  nevvy  til  him!  Uncle 
Neville,  to  be  sure!  Ha,  ha!  No  doubt,  he'll  be  proud  of 
his  new  connection,  the  auld  curmudgeon!  He  thought 
for  to  break  ye  intirely,  but  it's  himself  that  is  broken  up. 
He  digged  a  pit  for  another,  as  the  Good  Book  hath  it,  an' 
he's  fallen  intil  it  himself.  Ay,  there's  manny  a  slip  'twixt 
cup  an'  lip.  But  A'  misdoubt,  A'm  talkin'  in  riddles  to 
your  father  here,  so  A'll  e'en  axplain." 

And  explain  he  did,  with  high  satisfaction,  and  many  a 
merry  quib  and  sarcastic  fling  and  sundry  compliments 


576  THE   LATIMEES. 

meanwhile  to  the  landlord's  home-brewed.  The  Major 
was  surprised  at  what  he  heard,  for  he  knew  the  Nevilles 
well,  and  waxed  indignant  and  even  wroth  as  Andy's  tale 
proceeded.  But  John  mollified  his  anger,  and  softened 
his  friend's  statements  as  much  as  truth  would  permit. 

"Ay,  Capt.  Jock,  that's  you,  forsooth!  Al'ays  ginerous 
an'  forgivin'.  An'  it's  quite  right;  an'  highly  Christian, 
A'll  no  deny  that.  But  A'  go  in  for  the  Screeptur  policy 
of  forgivin'  the  returnin'  an'  penitent  prodigal.  Whan 
the  Giner'l  comes  back  in  that  fashion — Ah  well!  But  it's 
a  brave  bit  of  humble  pie  he'd  be  atin',  whan  he  h'ard  'at 
the  man  he  helt  too  common  to  aven  spake  to  Blanche 
Oldham,  is  his  own  nevvy!  An'  a  Montgomery,  at  that! 
A  Montgomery  as  was  a  mighty  fam'ly  among  the  notables 
five  centuries  afore  the  Nivilles  was  thought  of.  Ay,  ay, 
Giner'l,  ye  wrought  your  plan  out  fine  to  ruin  Capt.  Jock; 
but  it's  been  bravely  undone  for  ye.  Sure,  what  comes  in 
over  the  divil's  back  goes  out  under  his  belly,  as  ma  auld 
mother  uset  til  say;  an'  she  niver  taught  me  truer  words 
nor  them.  You  wouldn't  'a  splashed  along  in  your  plans 
so  bold  mebbe,  if  you'd  'a  knowed  what  was  comin'.  Faith, 
you  was  wadin'  in  dreggy  waters,  an'  got  beyant  your  depth 
afore  you  know'd  it.  Axcuse  me,  gintlemin,  but  A'll  be 
mighty  plazed  for  til  see  him  flounderin'  about  a  bit.  De- 
spisin'  an'  parrsecutin'  his  own  relation!  Ay,  but  there's 
a  marrciful  Providence  that  sands  curses  like  chickens  home 
to  rroost.  But  letabee,  siz  I.  The  Giner'l  aimed  to  do  ye 
a  harem,  but  it's  only  good  he's  done  ye;  an'  we  beeta  not 
abuse  the  bridge  that  carries  us  over.  Though  it's  small 
thanks  to  the  bridge  in  the  prisent  case." 

If  Andy  was  exalted  to  the  seventh  heaven  of  satisfac 
tion  over  his  friend's  rare  good  fortune,  Major  Montgomery 
was,  in  his  milder  way,  highly  pleased  with  Andy.  "A  most 
original  character!"  he  exclaimed  as  John  and  he  walked 
homeward.  "I  don't  wonder  you  are  so  strongly  attached 
to  him.  A  witty  dog!  How  he  did  score  my  old  comrade 
Gen.  Neville!  And  his  fun  is  informed  with  genuine  good 
sense.  Does  he  always  quote  proverbs  as  freely  as  to-day?" 

John  laughed.  "Proverbs?  Yes.  I  verily  believe  he 
thinks  and  even  dreams  in  proverbs.  Wherever  he  got 
them  all,  and  how  he  remembers  them,  passes  my  compre 
hension.  He  has  the  accumulated  proverbial  wisdom  of  all 
Ulster  at  his  tongue's  end." 


THE   LATIMERS.  577 

"Which  is  simply  the  wisdom  of  Scotland,  once  re 
moved!"  the  Major  interposed. 

"Yes,  no  doubt.  But  Andy  seems  to  give  the  imported 
articles  a  peculiar  flavor  and  force  native  to  the  soil.  At 
all  events,  they  rarely  suffer  in  either  humor  or  wisdom  in 
the  process  of  transition  through  Andy's  brain.  He  is  a 
natural  genius;  and  if  it  had  been  his  good  fortune  to  re 
ceive  an  education  in  his  youth,  he  would  have  made  a  man 
of  rare  power.  He  is  as  true  as  steel,  and  as  honest  as  the 
sun;  a  man  of  genuine  piety  and  goodness,  with  just  enough 
old-fashioned  prejudice  to  give  an  effective  foil  to  his 
piquant  character.  A  little  too  free  occasionally  with  the 
bottle;  but  never  drunken,  and  never  coarse  nor  unkind 
even  in  his  cups.  Rare  old  Andy  Burbeck!  He'll  never 
lack  a  friend  while  I  live." 

"Bravo!"  exclaimed  the  Major.  "Let  me  join  you  in 
that  pledge,  for  henceforth  your  friends  shall  be  mine." 

We  will  not  further  follow  the  two  men,  father  and 
son,  as  they  entered  Major  Montgomery's  house  on  Spruce 
Street.  Nor  will  we  try  to  picture  the  gladsome  fussiness 
of  the  old  housekeeper;  the  stir  of  excitement  that  dis 
turbed  the  placid  order  of  the  place;  the  revolution 
wrought  by  the  coming  in  of  a  new,  young  life;  the  swift 
transformation  in  the  Major,  in  his  habits,  in  his  home; 
the  flurried  happiness  of  fitting  up  John's  room;  the  cosy 
breakfasts,  and  hearty  dinners,  with  Andy  an  early  guest, 
for  he  was  persuaded  to  defer  his  journey  home  another 
week,  and  then  Mr.  Justus  Reid  and  Messrs.  Boudinot  and 
Thomson;  and  other  friends,  by  and  by.  Nor  can  we  enter 
upon  the  long  delightful  evenings  as  the  two  sat  chatting 
in  the  cool  southern  porch,  around  whose  sides  the  fragrant 
woodbine  climbed,  while  the  soft  southern  breeze  brought 
up  to  them  the  scent  of  roses  from  the  garden.  Nor  can 
\\e  record  the  mutual  exchange  of  personal  history,  as  the 
father  learned  the  story  of  his  son's  romantic  life  in  the 
Western  forests,  and  the  son  learned  the  varied  incidents 
of  his  father's  long  and  honorable  and  checkered  career. 
All  these  we  must  leave  the  reader  to  imagine.  The 
month  that  followed  was  one  of  the  happiest  that  the  two 
men  had  known,  or  were  to  know.  Sorely  grieved  the 
Major  was  that  these  incomparable  domestic  sweets  were 
so  soon  to  cease. 

37 


578  THE  LATIMEKS. 

CHAPTER  LVIII. 

A   PACKET   OF   LETTERS. 

In  the  possession  of  one  of  the  writer's  friends  is  a 
small  leathern-covered  box.  The  leather  is  dyed  red  and 
ornamented  with  round,  brass-headed  nails  arranged  along 
the  sides  and  angles  and  over  the  top  in  divers  geometrical 
figures.  Within  the  box  are  bundles  of  letters  folded  in  the 
old-fashioned  way  that  our  grandsires  practiced,  with 
marks  and  remnants  of  wafers  and  sealing-wax  along  the 
edges,  whose  little  ragged  gaps  show  where  .the  precious 
missives  were  opened.  The  paper  is  brown  with  age,  and 
some  of  the  letters  are  darkened  by  creases  and  thumb 
marks  that  show  signs  of  much  handling  and  frequent 
reading.  Two,  at  least,  bear  on  the  wax  well-preserved 
impressions  of  the  counterpart  in  miniature  of  the  Mont 
gomery  arms,  as  engraved  upon  the  bookplate  that  bore 
so  prominent  a  part  in  discovering  to  John  Latimer  his 
parentage. 

In  sooth,  these  letters  are  the  property  of  a  grand 
daughter  of  that  worthy  gentleman,  who  gave  them  to 
her  when  he  was  a  stalwart,  white-haired  man,  delighting 
to  tell  the  child  tales  of  the  Western  borders  and  waiting 
to  pass  beyond  this  earthly  Border  into  the  Fields  Illimit 
able.  To  the  courtesy  of  this  lady  the  reader  and  author 
are  indebted  for  the  privilege  of  reading  what  follows.  In 
the  copying  some  liberties  have  been  taken  with  the  spell 
ing,  which  is  only  what  our  ancestors  themselves  were 
wont  to  do,  and  sometimes  to  a  degree  that  would  sorely 
prejudice  their  standing  did  they  live  in  these  exacter 
days.  Some  of  the  profuse  capitalization  has  also  been  in 
part  at  least  revised,  and  the  grammar  altered,  if  not  im 
proved,  in  accordance  with  modern  usage.  Otherwise,  the 
reader  has  these  old-time  letters  just  as  they  came  to  the 
author,  with  all  the  odor  of  the  past  upon  them,  yet  with 
the  freshness  of  that  present  which  is  continually  being 
renewed  in  the  unchanging  emotions,  affections,  hopes 
and  fears  of  humanity. 


THE   LATIMERS.  579 

LETTER  No.  1. 
From  Blanche  Oldham  to  Fanny  McCormack. 

PHILADELPHIA,  May  21,  A.  D.  1795. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  FANNY: — I  take  my  pen  to  write 
you  a  few  lines  before  the  weekly  Western  stage  leaves 
for  Carlisle  and  Pittsburg.  There  are  great  News  for  you 
to  hear;  indeed  the  City  has  been  all  agog  with  it.  John 
Latimer  has  found  his  Father!  And  what  is  more  wonder 
ful,  he  turns  out  to  be  my  own  full  Cousin!  This  is  how  it 
all  happened.  *  *  *  Is  not  that  a  strange  Story?  It 
reads  like  a  romance,  and  you  may  know  into  what  a  State 
of  Excitement  it  has  thrown  us.  My  poor  dear  Papa  was 
the  youngest  of  the  Oldham  Family  of  whom  Aunt  Neville 
was  the  oldest  child.  So  you  see  that  in  spite  of  all  Uncle 
Neville's  prejudices  against  Cousin  John — how  odd  it 
seems  to  call  him  so! — he  is  one  of  the  Family  Connection. 
I  knew  that  Major  Montgomery  had  married  Mamma's 
oldest  Sister,  who  had  died  years  ago;  and  that  there  was 
something  that  quite  separated  him  from  our  Family. 
But  I  never  knew  the  Particulars  until  they  all  came  out 
in  proving  Cousin  John's  birth.  There  is  no  doubt  about 
it  at  all.  The  lawyers  have  gone  over  the  Evidence,  and 
everything  is  made  as  plain  as  can  be.  And  to  think  that 
the  little  baby  Things  that  he  wore  should  have  kept  all 
this  time,  and  should  have  led  to  his  Discovery!  Major 
Montgomery  is  a  highly  respectable  person,  indeed,  and 
comes  of  a  very  good  old  family.  I  believe  he  claims  to 
have  descended  from  one  of  the  ancient  Scotch  or  Irish 
Gentry.  Mamma  says  he  is  well  off,  so  that  Cousin  John 
is  thought  to  be  very  Fortunate. 

He  has  been  to  see  us  once  with  his  Father,  and  the 
old  Family  trouble  has  been  reconciled.  I  like  Major 
Montgomery  (who,  of  course,  is  my  Uncle),  very  much; 
and  Mamma  says  he  is  a  fine  Gentleman  with  courtly 
Manners,  and  reminds  her  of  the  old  Stock.  That,  you 
know,  is  the  highest  praise  Mamma  could  pass  upon  any 
person.  After  this  visit,  John  came  to  see  us  by  himself. 
Poor  fellow!  he  seems  sad.  It  is  hard  for  him  to  get  set 
tled  into  the  new  Soil,  as  he  says.  He  is  very  fond  of  his 
mother  (Mrs.  Latimer,  I  mean)  and  his  sister  Meg.  It 
seems  like  tearing  up  the  Roots  of  his  past  Life  to  give 
them  up  as  his  own  kin.  He  will  never  cease  to  love  them 
as  his  mother  and  sister,  I  am  sure,  from  what  he  says. 


580  THE   LATIMERS. 

He  talks  of  going  West  again;  can't  be  content  in  the 
East.  Mother  fears  his  roving  Habits  in  the  Forest  have 
spoiled  him  for  Steady  Life  here.  But  that  must  soon 
pass  away.  There  is  something  else,  I  am  certain,  and 
you  will  pardon  me,  dearest,  if  I  speak  of  it  *  *  * 
Of  course,  I  would  not  have  told  anyone  but  you  all  this, 
and  I  greatly  fear  you  may  think  it  unmaidenly  to  speak 
of  it  even  to  you.  But  somehow  I  always  feel  like  un 
bosoming  all  my  Perplexities  as  well  as  my  Pleasures  to 
my  dear  Fanny.  I  think  I  must  have  learned  that  from 
Cousin  John.  *  *  *  I  daresay  if  We  had  known  more 
of  one  another  at  that  time,  instead  of  being  so  long  and  so 
far  separated,  those  Feelings  which  were  excited  in  my 
Breast  during  that  first  Meeting  on  the  Ohio  Eiver  and  the 
stirring  Incidents  that  followed,  might  have  grown  into  a 
deep  and  strong  Affection. 

Then  Uncle  Neville  was  very  bitter  against  Cousin 
John,  without  the  least  reason  in  the  world;  and  Aunt 
Neville  has  such  high  notions  about  Family,  and  all  that. 
Really,  I  have  no  Patience  with  her  in  these  Matters!  But 
dear  Mamma  is  greatly  influenced  by  her,  and  indeed 
feels  a  great  deal  in  the  same  Way.  That's  the  way  with  all 
our  best  Philadelphia  Families;  they  are  dreadfully  set 
on  Good  Blood  and  Respectable  Connections.  I  never 
believed  half  nor  quarter  of  the  Stories  told  about  John; 
no  indeed!  But  I  must  confess  they  did  influence  me  some. 
Then  we  were  so  far  away  from  one  another;  and  when  we 
met,  as  it  happened  afterwards,  I  thought  he  was  distant, 
and  maybe  cold.  Poor  fellow!  I  daresay  he  felt — but,  I 
must  not  enter  on  thit  again. 

I  am  glad  that  Capt.  Burd  and  he  are  great  Friends. 
The  Captain  thinks  he  is  the  very  Soul  of  Honor  and  Cour 
age,  one  of  the  Manliest  Men  he  has  met.  That  is  true  of 
Capt.  Burd  himself,  I  am  sure.  It  is  pleasant  to  hear  them 
talk.  But  the  Captain  is  all  bubbling  over  with  joy  these 
days,  and  Cousin  John  is  so  gentle  and  sad  even  with  all 
his  bright  and  pleasant  ways.  Mamma  says  she  never  saw 
a  young  man  with  finer  Manners.  He  is  quite  like  his 
Father  in  that,  and  she  wonders  at  it.  But  Blood  will  Tell, 
as  she  says.  Ah  me!  if  some  Folk  had  found  that  out 
sooner,  who  knows  what  might  have  happened?  But  it 
was  for  the  Best  and  truly  Providential.  *  *  * 

And  now  dear  Fanny,  you  must  believe  me  the  one 


THE    LATIMERS.  581 

Thing  that  influenced  me  more  than  anything  else  was  that 
Discovery.  Indeed  it  was  not  hard  to  see  that  you  loved 
the  very  ground  he  walked  on.  To  think  that  he  was  so 
stupid  as  never  to  suspect  it!  Sister,  indeed!  But  I've 
noticed  that  some  of  these  very  Clever  Men  are  regular 
bats  and  moles  in  some  things.  I  am  sure,  my  dearest 
Fanny,  that  you,  and  only  you,  could  make  him  Truly 
Happy,  Happier  far  than  I.  You  are  just  suited  for  one 
another,  and  just  meant  for  one  another,  I  do  truly  believe. 
And  down  in  his  Heart  somewhere  there  is — a — a — Some 
thing,  that  some  day  will  ripen  into  True  Love,  Stronger 
and  Sweeter  than  any  he  has  ever  Felt.  *  *  *  That 
is  what  I  pray  for  day  by  day,  and  I  believe  that  now  he 
knows  how  it  is  with  Capt.  Burd  and  myself,  he  will  find  it 
out  for  himself.  *  *  *  Capt.  Burd  thinks  He  is  sure 
to  be  ordered  West  before  long,  and  then  I  will  be  once 
more  at  Pittsburg,  and  we  will  have  0  how  many  Things 
to  talk  about! 

Your  loving  Friend, 

BLANCHE. 

P.  S. — My  Engagement  was  announced  on  the  day 
before  Cousin  John's  trial,  and  the  Wedding  will  be  early 
in  the  Autumn.  How  I  wish  you  could  come  on!  Capt. 
Burd's  Evidence  at  the  Trial  was  very  Strong,  and  just 
broke  down  the  Prosecution.  He  says  Andy  was  at  his 
best.  It  was  better  than  a  Play  to  hear  him;  and  Mr. 
Rawle,  the  Prosecutor,  was  greatly  pleased  with  Andy,  too. 
He  came  to  see  me,  and  is  rollicking  full  of  Joy.  Dear 
me!  he  thinks  there  is  no  one  like  Capt.  Jock,  and  he  says 
his  Peggy  thinks  there  is  only  one  woman  in  the  world 
worthy  of  him,  and  she — well,  dear,  just  look  into  your 
mirror,  and  you  will  see  her! 

LETTEK  No.  2. 
From  Blanche  Oldliam  to  Fanny  McCormack. 

PHILADELPHIA,  June  23,  A.  D.  1795. 
*********** 

I  hope  the  Things  which  I  sent  you  by  Andy  Burbeck,  who 
left  two  weeks  ago,  have  safely  reached  you.  He  seemed 
to  have  as  much  Pleasure  in  taking  as  I  had  in  sending 
Them.  It  is  Wonderful  how  much  Improved  the  Traffic 
between  Philadelphia  and  Pittsburg  has  become  since  I 
first  rode  over  the  Mountains.  Capt.  Burd  says  He  thinks 


582  THE   LATIMEKS. 

there  will  soon  be  a  tri-weekly  Stage  to  the  West.  Think 
of  it!  But  one  must  allow  something  for  His  Enthusiasm 
about  our  Country  and  its  Progress.  *  *  *  If  all  is 
true  that  I  hear,  you  will  see  Cousin  John  before  long.  It 
is  said  that  President  Washington  has  commissioned  him 
to  carry  some  Important  Despatches  to  General  Wayne 
whose  Army  is  somewhere  out  in  the  far  West, — Ever  so 
far;  you  will  know  better  than  I  Where  it  is.  It  is  some 
thing  about  the  Treaty  with  the  Indians  they  are  making  at 
a  place  called  Greenville.  The  President  wants  Someone 
who  can  be  trusted  for  Intelligence,  and  who  knows  the 
country  and  can  travel  rapidly-  It  seems  Cousin  John  has 
a  great  reputation  as  a  Scout.  Capt.  Burd  says  it  is  a  great 
Compliment  to  him.  I  think  He  would  like  to  go  along 
if  it  was  not  for  the  Wedding;  and  maybe  if  it  had  not  been 
for  that,  President  Washington  might  have  selected  Him. 
I  am  sure  no  one  can  be  Braver  or  Wiser;  though  perhaps 
Cousin  John  knows  more  of  the  woods  as  he  was  brought 
up  in  them,  almost. 

Major  Montgomery  does  not  favor  the  plan,  but  John 
is  resolved  to  go,  the  Captain  says,  and  the  President's 
wish  goes  a  Great  Way,  of  course.     The  Major  thinks  of 
going  as  far  as  Pittsburg  with  John.    He  fancies  it  would 
be  a  good  place  for  Investments;  and  then  he  is  so  devoted 
to  his  Son  and  would  like  to  see  as  much  of  him  as  possible. 
*     *     *     Mamma  has  just  bought  the  Stuff  for  my  Wed 
ding  Gown.     I  am  sure  you  would  like  to  hear  about  it. 
Ever  your  affectionate  Friend, 
BLANCHE. 

P.  S. — It  is  all  true.  John  will  go  West  by  the  very 
Stage  that  carries  this  Letter.  He  came  to  bid  me  good 
bye.  It  was  very  sad,  poor  Fellow!  I  am  truly  sorry  for 
him.  He  says  he  don't  know  when  he  will  be  back,  which 
I  thought  was  very  strange.  He  brought  me  a  little  Box 
for  a  Wedding  Present,  he  said,  as  he  could  not  be  here: 
and  when  I  opened  it,  you  may  judge  what  a  Surprise  I  got! 
It  was  a  Pearl  Brooch!  Such  Beauties,  and  so  Large,  and 
the  Loveliest  Setting!  I  couldn't  help  crying,  and  when 
he  said  good  bye,  I  just  reached  up  and  kissed  him.  The 
Captain  said  "well  done,  Blanche!"  and  I  am  sure  he  mean* 
it,  too.  Why  should  I  not  kiss  my  own  Cousin?  John  must 
have  felt  sad  at  going,  too,  for  I  saw  just  a  little  Tear  on  his 
Eyelids  when  he  stooped — the  big  Fellow  he  is! — to  get  m^y 
Kiss. 


THE    LATIMEES. 


583 


LETTER  No.  3. 

From  Capt.  John  Latimer  Montgomery  to  Major  Hugh 
Montgomery,  Spruce  Street  above  Sixth,  Philadelphia. 
GREENVILLE,  OHIO  TERRITORY, 

August  21,  A.  D.  1795. 

MY  DEAR  AND  RESPECTED  FATHER: — An  Army-mail  is 
about  to  leave  this  point,  and  I  take  advantage  of  the 
occasion  to  advise  you  of  my  condition  and  occupations. 
I  have  been  and  am  in  my  usual  excellent  health.  Sick 
ness,  thank  God!  I  have  never  known,  and  but  little  pain 
(at  least  of  body)  beyond  occasional  trifling  hurts  that 
borderers  are  exposed  to.  But  if  I  were  ever  so  doncie,  a 
trip  into  the  open  prairies  and  wild  woods  would  be  sure 
to  bring  me  to  myself  again.  I  am  never  better  than  when 
out  upon  a  Scout.  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  get  my  Des 
patches  into  General  Wayne's  hands  with  unusual 
Promptness,  having  made  the  shortest  journey  ever  yet 
accomplished  between  Pittsburg  and  this  point.  This  feat, 
of  course,  gratified  me  and  won  me  some  Applause.  I 
shall  return  in  a  few  days  with  a  Copy  of  the  Treaty  with 
the  Indians  fully  signed,  which  I  am  to  deliver  to  the 
Commandant  at  Fort  Pitt  to  be  forwarded  thence  to  the 
Government  at  Philadelphia.  I  daresay  you  will  be  dis 
appointed  that  I  do  not  go  through  to  the  Capital,  and 
indeed,  for  some  Reasons  I  could  wish  to  do  so.  But  I 
have  accepted  an  important  and  delicate  Service  which 
will  take  me  to  the  Mississippi;  first  to  St.  Louis  and 
thence  into  the  Spanish  Possessions  at  New  Orleans.  This 
will  consume  the  entire  Winter,  and  it  will  be  an  agree 
able  change  to  pass  these  Months  in  that  warm  Climate. 
I  do  not  expect  to  get  back  to  Pittsburg  before  the  Spring 
of  1796,  and  am  doubtful  if  I  get  to  Philadelphia  again 
before  the  Summer  or  Autumn  of  that  year.  You  know 
my  Reasons  for  this  long  delay  *  *  *  I  will  not  say 
anything  more  on  this  point,  having  already  opened  up 
candidly  and  fully  the  State  of  my  Feelings.  As  matters 
now  are,  I  cannot  return  to  Philadelphia.  If  Capt.  Ruel 
Burd  and  his  Bride  (as  I  heard  it  rumored  before  I  left) 
are  to  be  stationed  at  Pittsburg  next  Spring,  I  would  find 
it  too  trying  upon  my  feelings  to  be  there.  All  this  seems 
foolish  and  unmanly  to  myself,  and  I  am  therefore  all  the 
more  grateful  that  you  were  able  to  exercise  so  much 
Charity  and  Sympathy  with  me  in  the  deep  wound  which 


584  THE   LATIMEKS. 

my  heart  has  received.  I  have  struggled  and  am  strug 
gling  against  the  feeling,  and  believe  I  will  overcome  it  in 
the  end;  but  I  am  happier  for  the  present  in  the  Solitudes 
of  these  distant  Wilds,  engaged  in  the  Activities  and  Ad 
ventures  of  my  Life  as  a  Scout.  *  *  * 

I  was  vastly  pleased  that  Mother  Latimer  (you  will  par 
don  me  if  my  heart  still  clings  fondly  to  that  name)  made 
such  an  agreeable  impression  upon  you,  and  you  were 
able  to  discover  so  soon  the  solid  worth  and  strong  natural 
gifts  of  this  noble  lady.  For  such  I  may  surely  call  her, 
if  not  by  external  Polish  of  Society,  yet  by  native  Endow 
ment  and  Grace.  She  is  well  worthy  of  your  Esteem,  and 
I  know  how  greatly  she  enjoyed  having  you  as  her  Guest 
along  with  myself  and  the  others.  As  for  sister  Meg,  her 
delight  in  having  you  at  her  Wedding  was  only  second  to 
that  of  having  her  "brother  John."  She  is  a  most  attrac 
tive  character,  none  the  less  so  for  the  peculiar  Charm  of 
Simplicity  and  traces  of  Forest  wildness  which  still  cling 
about  her.  You  have  inspired  her  with  a  high  Degree  of 
Eeverence  as  a  wise  and  good  Chief,  and  therewith  also  a 
strong  Affection  as  my  Father.  It  was  amusing  to  hear 
her  propound  a  problem  that  had  sorely  puzzled  her  un 
tutored  Mind.  If  I  am  her  brother,  and  on  that  point  her 
Indian  notions  of  adoption  admit  of  no  doubt,  and  you  are 
my  Father,  are  you  not  then  also  her  Father?  That  was 
her  quandary.  I  did  not  venture  to  solve  the  question 
positively,  but  comforted  her  with  the  Assurance  that  you 
would  doubtless  feel  highly  complimented  to  have  such  a 
comely  lady  as  Mrs.  Morton  Sheldon  for  a  Daughter. 

I  thank  you  for  your  kind  offer  of  money,  but  my  wants 
are  so  few  here,  that  I  am  more  than  able  to  provide  for 
them.  Indeed,  I  have  sold  a  large  pack  of  furs,  gathered 
last  season,  the  proceeds  of  which  I  have  invested  in  Lots 
in  the  new  town  called  Cincinnati  on  the  north  Bank  of 
the  Ohio,  opposite  the  Licking  River.  It  already  has 
several  hundred  Inhabitants,  and  promises  to  be  an  im 
portant  and  growing  Point.  I  expect  to  spend  a  Month  or 
two  in  the  late  Winter  hunting  with  a  few  of  my  pioneer 
Friends,  and  hope  to  get  a  goodly  Eeward  therefor  from 
the  fur  Traders.  Thus  you  see  I  am  not  likely  to  need 
your  kindly  proffered  Aid,  but  am  none  the  less  grateful 
for  the  same. 

I  have  noted  the  point  raised  by  Mr.  Justus  Eeid  and 


THE   LATIMERS.  585 

communicated  by  you  without  comment,  since  as  you  say 
it  involves  my  own  interests  solely.  The  lawyer  may  be 
correct  in  his  view  that  since  Mr.  Jonathan  Rhodes  died 
intestate  I  have  a  good  claim  upon  my  Mother's  share  of 
the  Estate.  But  if  the  case  were  already  decided,  and  the 
money  proffered  me,  I  would  reject  it.  My  Grandfather's 
strange  neglect  to  make  a  Will  may  have  been  caused  by 
his  Satisfaction  with  the  provision  which  the  Law  would 
make  for  his  Family  in  that  event.  Certainly,  he  never  reck 
oned  on  any  other  heir  than  his  Wife  and  surviving 
Daughter  Mrs.  Oldham.  My  Mother  was  dead,  and  my 
Existence  not  even  suspected.  Whatever  my  supposed 
Right  in  Law  may  be,  I  have  none  in  Morals  or  in  Honor. 
I  would  scorn  to  touch  a  penny  of  such  ill-gotten  gear. 
In  truth,  even  were  that  difficulty  out  of  the  way,  I  would 
never  consent  to  better  my  own  estate  at  the  expense  of 
my  Cousin  Blanche.  I  now  ask,  nay,  I  demand  that  the 
matter  be  dropped  at  once.  And  please  tell  Mr.  Reid 
under  no  circumstances  to  allow  Blanche  or  her  Mother 
even  to  suspect  that  this  question  has  been  mooted. 

Accept  the  most  sincere  Expressions  of  my  continued 
Respect  and  filial  Esteem,  and  believe  me, 

Your  Dutiful  and  Affectionate  Son, 

JOHN  LATIMER  MONTGOMERY. 

LETTER  No.  4. 
From  Major  Hugh  Montgomery  to  Capt.  John  Montgomery. 

PHILADELPHIA,  June  16,  A.  D.  1796. 
MY  DEAR  Sox: — I  Avrote  you  quite  a  long  letter  from 
Pittsburg  whither  I  went  on  my  second  visit  early  in  the 
Spring  as  soon  as  the  Roads  were  opened.  I  addressed  it 
to  Cincinnati,  thinking  it  might  catch  you  there  on  your 
way  up  the  Ohio  River.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  greatly 
I  was  disappointed  at  not  finding  you  there;  but  the 
two  letters  from  you  came  to  my  hand  through  the  Polite 
ness  of  Mrs.  Latimer,  to  whose  care  you  had  sent  them. 
These  gave  me  much  desired  Information  as  to  your  where 
abouts  and  doings;  and  the  Contents  of  your  last  Letter 
added  to  my  Satisfaction,  and  mitigated  my  Disappoint 
ment  at  not  seeing  you  and  my  not  being  able  to  await 
your  Coming.  I  hail  with  heartiest  Joy  your  Announce 
ment  to  abandon  your  roving  Life  in  the  Woods,  and  take 
up  some  settled  Occupation!  Need  I  say  how  strongly  I 


586  THE    LATIMERS. 

yearn  to  have  you  near  me  that  you  may  solace  with  your 
Companionship  the  closing  years  of  my  Life.  Yet,  I  trust 
I  am  not  altogether  selfish  in  this,  for  I  am  well  aware  that 
your  future  Interests  as  well  as  your  highest  Usefulness 
will  be  greatly  forwarded  by  the  change  in  your  Mode  of 
Life.  *  *  *  In  view  of  the  uncertainty  of  the  Mails, 
I  may  repeat  some  of  the  News  written  in  my  former 
Letter.  Your  sister  Meg  is  the  Mother  of  a  Fine  Boy,  and 
both  Mother  and  Infant  are  doing  well.  There  was  some 
serious  Discussion  over  a  proper  Name  for  the  little  Man, 
but  at  last  filial  regard  triumphed,  and  the  lad  is  to  be 
christened  Luke.  But  should  the  Parents  be  blessed  with 
another  Son,  you  may  be  confident  it  will  be  a  Namesake  of 
Yours.  Mrs.  Sheldon  is  worthy  of  the  high  regard  in  which 
you  hold  her,  and  her  husband  is  a  person  of  remarkably 
strong  character.  He  is  prospering  finely,  and  is  already 
one  of  the  most  substantial  Landholders  in  Washington 
County. 

Your  Indian  friend  Featherfoot  is  still  a  protege  of 
Mrs.  Latimer,  but  I  learn  is  beginning  to  decline  in  health. 
It  is  hard  to  transplant  these  wild  natures  into  the  Soil  of 
Civilization.  But  the  good  Squaw  seems  anxious  to  join 
her  warrior  Husband  in  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds. 
Dungy  continues  to  be  the  invaluable  majordomo  of  Mrs. 
Latimer's  Establishment,  and  begs  me  to  send  his  duty  to 
Massa  John  and  say  that  Marion  is  in  prime  condition. 
"Jist  tell  Cap'n  John,"  says  he,  nodding  his  head  and  roll 
ing  up  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  "dat  ole  Dungy  keeps  Marion 
all  ready  for  him  when  he  gets  home;  an'  dat  he  can  gallop 
over  to  Canonsburg  in  forty  minutes  an'  not  hurt  him  a  bit, 
an'  be  better  for  it,  as  de  Cap'n  will  be  hisself,  to  say  nomn 
of  oder  folkses."  I  am  sure  I  do  not  understand  what 
occult  meaning  lies  in  the  old  negro's  Message,  but  he  evi 
dently  was  greatly  pleased  over  it,  and  went  away  chuck 
ling  within  himself  and  shaking  his  sides  with  suppressed 
Pleasure. 

Mrs.  Latimer  insisted  that  I  should  again  be  her  guest, 
but  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  tax  her  Hospitality,  and 
so  found  pleasant  quarters  in  the  Maine  House.  But  I  often 
called,  as  Mrs.  Morton  Sheldon  was  on  her  first  visit  witl 
the  Baby  to  its  Grandmother,  and  Mr.  Sheldon  was  There 
also.  I  found  it  Very  Pleasant.  By  the  way,  I  was  more 
surprised  at  the  Superior  character  of  Mrs.  Latimer  than  on 


THE   LATIMERS.  587 

my  first  trip  to  Pittsburg  nearly  a  Year  ago.  She  is  cer 
tainly  a  Remarkable  Woman,  full  of  Information,  and  a 
most  piquant  and  original  way  of  imparting  it.  Though 
not  possessing  great  advantages  of  Education,  her  original 
Powers  have  been  so  well  cultivated  that  she  would  not  do 
discredit  to  the  best  Society.  For  that  matter,  even  in 
Education  she  is  not  behind  many  of  our  leading  Society 
Ladies  in  Philadelphia.  Moreover,  she  is  in  the  Prime  of 
Life,  and  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  comely  Matrons  that 
I  have  seen  in  these  parts,  or  even  in  Philadelphia,  which  is 
justly  famous  for  its  Handsome  Ladies.  I  do  not  wonder, 
since  I  have  corne  to  know  her  and  her  daughter  Meg,  that 
this  Western  country  has  such  strong  Attractions  for  you 
I  fear  I  shall  never  be  able  to  overcome  the  Attraction  and 
get  you  all  to  myself,  unless  I  form  some  kind  of  an  Alli 
ance  with  the  powers  that  be  at  Pittsburg,  and  transfer  the 
Attraction  to  my  own  Home! 

I  frequently  met  Gen.  Neville  and  his  son  the  Colonel, 
and  indeed  all  the  Connection.  I  was  at  first  disposed  to 
resent  the  General's  action  towards  you;  but  he  was  so 
polite  to  me  and  expressed  himself  so  kindly  toward  you 
(on  which  Subject  he  appears  to  have  experienced  a  change 
of  heart)  that  I  concluded  it  better  to  bury  the  hatchet. 
Mrs.  Latimer,  however,  is  not  so  indulgent,  and  still  feels 
very  bitter,  which  perhaps  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  Pitts- 
burg  is  growing  rapidly  and  everything  there  is  moving 
briskly  and  showing  great  signs  of  increasing  Prosperity. 
A  party  asked  me  about  your  bit  of  Ground,  and  wondered 
if  you  would  sell  it?  But  I  would  not  advise  you  to  do  so 
yet.  I  am  pleased  to  know  that  your  Venture  in  Cincin 
nati  holdings  is  likely  to  turn  out  well.  I  would  advise  you, 
if  this  reaches  you  in  time,  to  put  all  your  ready  money  in 
other  desirable  lots.  Mrs.  Latimer  I  may  say,  has  shown 
great  Business  Shrewdness  in  her  Investments,  though 
she  has  been  well  advised  by  Mr.  Brackenridge.  Her  Prop 
erty  has  rapidly  advanced,  and  if  discreetly  managed  will 
make  her  in  a  few  years  a  Woman  of  considerable  Fortune, 
quite  equal,  indeed,  if  not  Superior  to  my  own.  That, 
however,  I  trust  is  large  enough  for  the  Happiness  of  my 
self  and  Son.  Yet,  if  what  I  learn  be  not  exaggerated,  he 
has  inherited  a  goodly  share  of  Ancestral  canniness  from 
both  the  Scotch  and  Quaker  sides,  and  promises  to  do  so 
well  for  himself  that  I  suspect  I  might  recall  Mr.  Justus 


588  THE    LATIMEES. 

Reid  and  restore  to  divers  Charities  some  of  the  Bequests 
expunged  from  a  former  Will. 

Your  adopted  Mother  showed  much  concern  over  your 
future  Welfare.  She  seems  to  love  you  as  tenderly  and 
strongly  as  though  you  were  her  own  born  Son.  I  sin 
cerely  pity  her.  When  talking  of  your  return  to  Philadel 
phia  and  final  separation  from  her,  she  could  not  conceal 
her  Grief.  Truly  I  feel  as  if  Something  were  due  to  her  long 
and  loving  Devotion,  and  that  such  sacred  Feelings  ought 
not  to  be  rudely  dealt  with.  Yet  how  can  it  be  helped?  A 
father  surely  has  the  best  right  to  his  own  Son.  But  the 
Lady's  sincere  grief  and  deep  motherly  Affection  have 
moved  my  pity  as  well  as  Admiration.  She  eyidently 
thinks  you  will  not  be  happy  and  quite  settled  until  you 
are  married  to  some  Worthy  Woman,  and  I  suspect  she 
has  some  match-making  project  for  you  in  her  Brain.  No 
doubt  Marriage  is  the  best  Estate  for  all  men,  though  my 
long  widowerhood  would  seem  to  contradict  that  Opinion. 
But  even  if  the  old  wound  should  be  healed  (and  time  com 
poses  all  such  hurts  of  the  affections),  I  hope  you  will  not 
be  hasty  in  your  choice,  nor  allow  yourself  to  be  unduly 
influenced  by  others.  Your  Happiness  is  a  matter  of  the 
highest  Concern  to  me;  and  as  Marriage  may  well  add 
greatly  thereto,  so  also  it  might  bring  into  one's  home  a 
life-long  bitterness  and  burden. 

Your  affectionate  father, 
HUGH  MONTGOMERY. 

In  preparing  the  next  following  letter  for  the  printer, 
the  author  has  been  embarrassed  as  to  how  far  his  censor 
ship  would  justify  alteration  of  its  matter  and  form.  By 
such  changes  as  he  has  ventured  upon,  he  does  not  imply 
that  honest  Andy's  phonetic  and  original  methods  of 
spelling  and  divers  rhetorical  peculiarities  are  in  the  least 
inferior  to  the  revised  text.  But  the  prejudices  of  readers 
are  so  pronounced  in  these  matters,  that  not  only  in  kind 
liness  to  their  feelings,  but  in  order  to  preserve  their 
favorable  opinion  of  this  admirable  character,  some  degree 
of  revision  has  been  attempted.  It  is  hoped  that  the  racy 
flavor  of  Andy's  style  has  not  thereby  been  edited  quite 
away.  If  the  personality  of  the  letter-writer  appears  occa 
sionally  to  be  somewhat  confused,  and  certain  monologues 
and  dialogues  not  usually  inserted  in  letters  are  herein 


THE    LATIMERS.  589 

presented,  the  reader  will  be  good  enough  to  remember 
that  Mr.  Burbeck  had  somewhat  the  reputation  of  a  genius 
in  the  parts  where  he  was  best  known.  As  genius  is  allowed 
some  eccentricities,  and  occasionally  is  applauded  for  strik 
ing  out  into  new  lines  in  literary  method,  as  well  as  in 
other  fields  of  human  activity,  the  author  has  not  felt  that 
he  would  be  justified  in  eliminating  these  peculiarities.  In 
short,  he  has  left  parts  of  the  letters  as  they  appear  in  the 
original  autograph. 

LETTEK  No.  5. 

PITTSBUKG,  PAY.,  Sevinteen  hunder-96. 
To  the  Honorble  Capt.  John  Latimer  Montgomery,  Esq.: 

HOXORBLE  SIR  AND  DEAR  JOCK: — I  take  my  pen  in 
hand,  bad  luck  to  it!  (the  pen  I  mane,  for  it's  a  spluttery 
one)  to  write  you  these  few  lines,  and  hope  your  Honor  is 
the  same.  P.  S. — If  them  addrisses  and  Titles  is  not  all 
right,  we  ast  your  pardon  (that's  Peggy  an'  me);  I  jist 
wanted  to  begin  "dear  Jock,"  but  Peggy  threeped  me  it 
wouldn't  do,  an'  made  me  git  in  them  high-an'-mightys, 
which  is  your  desarts  an'  more  too,  but  pesky  bothersome 
to  handle.  Howsomiver,  I  got  in  Dear  Jock  in  spite  of  her, 
an'  I  won't  scratch  it  out,  though  it's  spattered  a  bit,  but 
that's  the  pen,  bad  cess  til  it!  But  he  ain't  no  pernickety 
popinjay,  says  I,  if  he  has  struck  a  broad  trail  of  good  luck, 
but  jist  the  same  ole  Jock  as  iver.  As  I  laid  out  to  say,  me 
an'  Peggy's  pretty  hearty;  an'  so  is  Bouse,  an'  Bounce  an' 
Betty,  though  the  last  litter  of  pups  is  a  rother  mangey 
lot.  I  reckon  it  comes  of  grievin'  for  your  bein'  awray  so 
onconscionably  long.  They  hain't  had  a  reg'lar  out-an'-out 
jig  since  you  left.  So  you  see  you're  missed  by  high  an' 
low.  Like  master  like  man,  folks  say,  which  is  true  of  a 
dog  as  well  as  a  man,  says  I;  an'  that's  why  our  fambly  is 
younanimous  in  sendin'  love  to  Cap'n  Jock  an'  wishin' 
him  a  safe  an'  suddent  return. 

We've  moved  over  to  Pittsburg;  for  the  ferryin'  biz- 
ness  has  been  jist  royal;  an'  I  was  kep'  a-goin'  so  stiddy 
that  Peggy  wouldn't  stand  it,  no  more  would  Bounce  an' 
Betty,  bein'  jelous  (that's  Peggy  I  mane)  seein'  there's  so 
manny  fine  lasses  around  Pittsburg.  Witch  isn't  a  ward 
of  troot  in  it,  an'  lie  knows  it.  It  was  the  tavvirns,  more 
belike!  But  I  muss  say  he's  gittin'  a  long  well,  and  is  a 
savin'  upp  munny.  An'  I  can  niver  be  two  greatful  for 
ewer  Farther's  kvneness  in  lavein'  of  him  half  the  Feree. 


590  THE    LATIMERS. 

Dear  Jock,  Peggy  writ  that  while  I  was  out  restin'  a 
spell,  for  this  ritein's  offal  hard  wark.  It  makes  a  feller 
sweat  wuus'n  polein'  up  strame.  So  don't  you  mind,  for 
you  know  Peggy  pritty  well.  God  bless  her  bright  eyes! 
P.  S. — That's  for  her,  you  see,  for  she  will  read  over  my 
shoulder  an'  korreck  my  letter,  sayin'  I  don't  know  how 
to  spell!  Well,  says  I,  Peggy,  my  love,  I  know  someone 
as  can  talk  a  whole  libary  an'  not  spell  a  page  korreck — 
witch  isn't  meant  for  her,  leastways  not  to  rite  it  out. — 
Well,  we  moved  to  Pittsburg  and  is  comfortable  enough, 
considerin'.  An'  Peggy  couldn't  live  without  bein'  near 
til  Mrs.  Latimer,  which  I  don't  blame  her  for. 

All  your  friends  here  are  hearty,  an'  some  as  aint  here. 
That's  not  includin'  Dave  Dandruff,  drat  him!  Jist  kape 
still  Peggy,  I  won't  scratch  it  out!  Don't  you  think  Cap'ji 
Jock  wants  a  feller  to  rite  to  him  nayteral  like,  jist  as  he 
would  talk?  Double  drat  him!  says  I,  the  dirty  skunk! 
He  stole  one  of  Mort  Sheldon's  bosses,  an'  they  catched 
him,  an'  was  a  goin'  to  string  him  up.  But  Mort  wouldn't 
hear  til  it;  so  they  jist  tarred  an'  feathered  him,  an'  railrid 
him  to  the  Chartiers  an'  pitched  him  in,  and  said  if  he  iver 
showed  up  in  them  coasts  agin  he  would  stretch  hemp. 
So  he's  gone  to  jine  the  robbers  down  the  river,  I  reckon. 
Look  out  for  him.  He's  a  reglar  snake  in  the  grass,  an'  no 
mistake. 

Talkin'  of  Mort  Sheldon,  you  mind  Passon  Lane  his 
head  man?  Well,  it's  the  beatenest  thing  I've  h'ard.  If 
I  knowed  how  to  laff  on  paper  I'd  do  it  sartain.  He's  bin 
a  tryin'  to  set  up  with  the  Widder  Latimer!  Think  o' 
Passon  Lane  agoin'  courtin'!  But  he  got  his  walkin' 
papers  short  metre,  I  can  tell  you.  No  sich  as  Passon 
Lane  nade  apply  at  tliim  headquarters!  It's  true,  an'  you 
naden't  conterdick  it,  Mrs.  Peggy!  'Tain't  no  discredit 
to  the  Widder  if  folks  fancy  her,  as  I  knows  on.  An' 
there's  a  heap  higher  folks  nor  Passon  Lane  as  have  their 
eyes  sot  that  way,  betwixt  me  an'  you.  An'  it  wouldn't  be 
no  discredit  to  the  wi elder  aven  ef  she  should  take  a  fancy 
to  sum  other  folks,  says  Peggy;  for  Andy,  says  she,  love's 
like  sourkraut,  all  the  better  when  it's  warmed  over.  I 
don't  see  annything  out'n  the  way  in  tellin'  Cap'n  Jock 
all  about  it.  Ain't  he  bound  to  hear  it? — says  I  to  Peggy. 
But  you  naden't  be  consarned  about  the  matter,  Jock  my 
b'y,  for  you'll  find  that  Lady  all  an'  allays  the  same  til 


THE   LATIMERS.  591 

yoursilf.  For  niver  mother  loved  a  child  more  truly  nor 
she  loves  you;  an'  aven  if  she'd  'a  marrit  your  own  Farther 
hisself  she  couldn't  love  you  a  mort  more. 

0  yes!  I  was  jist  a  goin'  to  tell  him  tbout  that  when 
you  nudged  me.  There,  Peggy!  You've  made  me  splatter 
that  line!  So  you  muss  axcuse  us  Cap'n  Jock;  for  rightin' 
ain't  our  trade.  It  was  jist  about  a  month  ago  I  was  a-sittin' 
on  the  bank  waitin'  for  a  customer,  whin  along  comes  your 
old  fri'nd  Mad  Ann  Trotter.  "Goodness  gracious!"  says 
I.  "Is  it  you,  Mrs.  Trotter?"  "No,  it  haint,"  says  she, 
"not  by  a  long  shot!  Try  agin,  Sonny!"  says  she. 
"Helloa!"  says  I,  "none  of  your  cranks  on  me,  ole  leddy! 
You're  Mad  Ann  Trotter  or  I'm  a  nayger."  "Well,  Andy 
dear,"  says  she,  "then  a  h'Ethiopian  you  are,  to  be  sure, 
for  hit's  not  Mad  Ann  Trotter.  Wat  would  you  say  now 
to  Mad  Ann  Bailey?"  "Jiminy  crackies!"  says  I,  "Is  that 
so?"  "Ay,  indade!"  says  she.  "An'  w'at  for  not?"  "No 
rayson  in  the  warld,  Mrs.  Bailey,"  says  I,  "if  that's  your 
name.  An'  here's  my  hearty  congratulations;  for  Aleck 
Bailey  is  as  fine  a  man  as  is  on  the  Border.  Bu — ut," 
says  I  hesitatin'  like.  "But  w'at?"  says  she,  sp'akin'  up 
sharp  an'  eyein'  me  keenly.  "Well,  Mrs.  Ann,  you  may  be 
comfotable  enough,  bu-ut — how's  Aleck?"  says  I,  lookin' 
sort  of  solemn  like,  an'  a-shakin  my  head.  "Does  lie  kape 
heart}r  these  days?  Or  is  he  kind  o'  pinin'  away,  an'  gunk 
like?" 

Boys-0!  how  she  laffed  at  that!  "You're  a  sly  rogue, 
h'Andy!"  says  she.  "An'  ye  can't  vex  me  with  your  chaff. 
Jist  you  come  down  to  h'our  plantation  near  W'eelin'  Crick, 
an'  I'll  show  you  a  man  as  isn't  'en-pecked,  like  someone  I 
knows  of  'at  isn't  a  mile  h'off.  An'  jist  as  'appy  an'  'arty 
as  the  day  is  long.  Good  bye,  h'Andy!"  says  she,  laffin'  an' 
jogglin'  her  head  as  she  walked  down  the  road.  "Good 
bye;  h'it's  all  right!  Like  Jack  an'  Jill  is  me  an'  Bailey. 
Love  to  Mr.  Peggy!"  No,  I  won't  scratch  it  out,  nuther! 
It  was  "Mister"  she  called  you.  "I  reckon  Mad  Ann  thinks 
it's  a  compliment!"  says  Mrs.  Peggy,  tossin'  her  head  in  a 
pretty  huff,  "for  she's  half  a  man  her  ownself !"  Lord  bless 
the  dear  old  gal,  Jock!  Ef  I  do  taze  her  a  bit,  whiles,  she's 
the  best  wife  in  the  Western  Survey,  an'  well  she  knows  I 
belave  it. 

Your  new  Father  has  been  West  agin,  an'  a  lookin' 
round  to  plant  a  little  spare  cash,  as  he  says.  He's  a  grate 


592  THE   LATIMEES. 

favoryte  out  here,  an'  you  may  well  be  proud  of  him. 
'Tanny  rate  he's  mortal  proud  of  you.  There's  nothin' 
starchy  nor  stuckup  about  him.  He's  a  ginuwine  old  cava 
lier.  But  that's  the  way  with  the  rale  quality.  The  higher 
up  you  go  the  clearder  runs  the  strame.  It  takes  one  of 
them  mushroom  'ristocrats  that's  jist  fresh  up  out  of  the 
dirt-heap  to  put  on  airs  an'  let  on  they're  some  punkins. 

The  Major  is  the  rale  old  sort,  an'  no  mistake.  He 
took  a  lot  of  satisfaction  in  visitin'  your  ole  home.,  an' 
made  me  take  him  round  to  your  ole  hants,  an'  niver 
seemed  tired  a-talkin'  about  you.  We  went  over  to  the 
McCormack's,  of  course,  an'  Fanny  would  have  us  stay  to 
supper.  The  Major  says  she  's  the  most  "queenly  damsel" 
he  has  seed  for  manny  a  year,  an'  laughin'ly  vowed  if  he 
was  as  young  a  man  as  his  son  Jock  he  would  lose  his  heart 
til  her  at  first  sight,  w'ich  Peggy  says  she  could  find  a 
woman  nearder  his  own  age  as  would  suit  him  better.  "Is 
she  engaged?"  the  Major  ast  me,  as  we  rode  home  talkin' 
up  our  trip.  "Not  jist  yit,"  says  I,  kind  of  onsartin  like, 
as  tho'  it  mought  be  so.  "Oh?  Then,  I  suppose  she  has 
prospects.  I  might  have  known  that!"  says  he,  kind  o' 
sighin'.  Bless  his  rare  ole  Soul!  I  belave  he  was  rayther 
disap'inted,  an'  had  sort  o'  picked  out  our  Fanny  at  the 
first  blush  for  a  daughter-in-law!  An'  he  might  'a  gone  a 
long  way  f urder  and  fared  a  nation  sight  warse,  Cap'n  Jock, 
says  Peggy  an'  me. 

He  has  a  high  opinion  of  Mrs.  Latimer,  the  Major  has, 
an'  niver  missed  an  avenin'  callin'  on  her  while  he  was  in 
Pittsburg.  He  went  up  regular  to  see  your  sister  Meg  an' 
the  baby,  says  he.  He  staid  a  week  or  more  longer  nor  he 
meant, — a-waitin'  for  you  to  come  on,  he  said;  though  I 
told  him  there  wasn't  anny  chanct  for  it  afore  July. 
But  he  stayed  all  the  same,  an'  seemed  to  have  a  good  time 
a-visitin'  Mrs.  Sheldon  an'  the  baby.  *  *  *  I've  been 
jist  a  plum  week,  a-ritin'  out  this  plaguey  letter,  which  if 
it  causes  you  as  much  worry  as  it  did  me,  I'd  better  throw 
it  intil  the  fire  nor  send  it.  But  somehow  that  would  seem 
like  an  offal  waste  o'  precious  time.  That's  not  countin' 
the  Holy  Sabbath  that  intervaned.  Which  Peggy  allowed 
I  might  right  on  that  day,  bekase  it's  not  your  ord'nary 
implymint,  says  she.  "But  don't  it  say  'Thou  shalt  do  no 
work?"  says  I.  "An'  if  iver  I  struck  work  afore  in  these 
settlemints  or  elsewhere  it's  a-righten  of  letters.  It  would 


THE    LATIMERS.  593 

'a  been  a  offal  breakin'  of  the  Sabbath!"  says  I.  Kunnin' 
a  ferry  isn't  a  patchin'  to  't.  Fve  whitted  up  2  goose  quills 
aready,  an'  my  fingers  is  all  cramped,  an'  the  corners  of  my 
tongue  is  all  sore  a-bitin'  it,  which  Peggy  says  is  a  judg 
ment  for  a-sassin'  her  so,  an'  '11  give  her  a  good  rest  not  to 
spake  of  other  folks.  So  no  more  letters  at  prisent,  an'  the 
Good  Lord  deliver  us!  Witch  is  all  the  'piscopole  sarvice 
as  I  knows,  an'  comes  in  amazin'  pat.  So  wishin'  the  same 
to  your  Honor  an'  dear  Jock,  an'  all  other  blessin's  till  you 
git  back,  I  am 

Your  obaydint  Sarvint,  an'  faithful  to  comeand  with 
highest  respicts, 

ANDY  BURBECK  AN'  PEGGY,  TWO. 


At  the  bottom  of  the  old  leather  box  in  which  the  above 
were  kept  was  a  little  packet  of  letters  browner  and  more 
worn  than  the  rest.  They  were  carefully  tied  together  with 
a  faded  blue  ribbon.  "These,"  said  the  lady  who  owns  them, 
Mrs.  Fanny  Montgomery  Fleming,  "were  my  grand 
mother's,  and  she  cherished  them  as  the  apple  of  her  eye. 
They  were  given  to  me  by  grandfather  shortly  before  his 
death  because  I  was  named  after  grandma  and  (as  he 
thought)  greatly  favored  her  in  personal  appearance  when 
she  was  young." 

They  are  love  letters,  and  they  disclose  experiences  too 
sacred  to  be  set  before  the  public  gaze.  Perhaps  after  all, 
the  reader  will  have  a  keener  pleasure  in  putting  imagina 
tion  to  the  task  of  interpreting  their  contents.  Across  the 
back  of  the  outer  fold  is  written  in  a  somewhat  wavering 
hand,  apparently  of  an  aged  man,  this  endorsement: 

"These  Letters  tell  how  I  awoke  from  a  long  and  pain 
ful  Dream,  to  find  the  greatest  Blessing  and  Joy  of  my  life. 
Underneath  the  withered  Foliage  of  a  disappointed  Affec 
tion  lay  the  Seeds  of  a  life-long  Love,  which  waxed 
Stronger  and  Brighter  till  the  End  came.  And  now  my 
Dearest  awaits  me  in  the  Heavens  with  the  Benediction 
of  an  Eternal  Love.  And  I  wait  with  Patience,  yet  with 
Longing,  for  the  Glad  Keunion.  J.  L.  M." 

[THE  END.] 


TENANTS  OF  AN  OLD  FARM. 

Leaves  from  the  Note-book  of  a  Naturalist. 

By  REV.  HENRY  C  McCOOK,  D*D*,  Sc*D* 

Introduction  by  SIR  JOHN  LUBBOCK,  Bart. 

One  hundred  and  forty  illustrations  from  nature  by 
Dan  Beard  and  others.  480  pages,  with  index.  Eighth 
edition,  12mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

THE  WESTMINSTER  REVIEW  (BRITISH) 

"Dr.  McCook  has  literally  lived  among  his  pets,  has  studied 
them  by  day  and  by  night  in  their  natural  state,  has  not  scrupled 
to  subject  himself  to  their  formidable  stings,  and  has  deemed  no 
pains  too  great  to  make  the  world  acquainted  with  insects,  upon 
which  he  looks  with  a  species  of  respectful  veneration.  He  is,  in 
truth,  a  veritable  enthusiast,  and  it  would,  indeed,  seem  as 
though  ants,  bees,  and  wasps,  all  belonging  to  the  same  order  of 
insects,  possessed  a  fascination  for  the  true  naturalist  far  greater 
than  that  excited  by  larger  animals." 

BOSTON  LITERARY  WORLD. 

"  We  will  venture  to  say  that  the  Colorado  beetle,  the  apple- 
worm,  moths,  bumble-bees,  caterpillars,  ants,  and  spiders  were 
never  before  made  so  picturesque,  never  so  idealized.  The  author 
likes  them,  humanizes  them,  lives  among  them,  finds  an  inner 
meaning  in  their  little  lives,  makes  in  every  way  the  most  of 
them.  .  .  .  Housekeepers  will  surely  be  amused  and  probably 
surprised  by  learning  just  how  moths  go  to  work,  and  the  chapters 
on  crickets  and  katy-dids,  are  very  fresh  and  animated  ;  the  same 
is  true  of  the  bumble-bees  and  spiders ;  and  what  is  not  really  new 
is  put  in  new  shape." 

NEW  YORK  EXAMINER. 

"  Belongs  to  a  class  which  might  with  great  profit  take  the 
place  of  much  of  the  literature,  sentimental  and  otherwise,  which 
finds  its  way  into  the  hands  of  our  children  through  Sunday- 
school  and  other  libraries.  It  is  pleasantly  written  and  beauti 
fully  illustrated  with  original  drawings  from  nature." 

ILLUSTRATED  CHRISTIAN  WEEKLY,  N.  Y. 

"  The  illustrations  are  a  noteworthy  feature  of  the  book.  Many 
of  them  are  admirable  illustrations  of  their  subjects,  while  to 
these  have  been  added  a  number  of  comical  adaptations  from  the 
pencil  of  Mr.  Dan  Beard." 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  postpaid  by  the  publishers, 

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OLD  FARM  FAIRIES; 

Or  a  Summer  Campaign  in  Brownie  Land  against  King 
Cobweaver's  Pixies* 

By  REV.  HENRY  C.  McCOOK,  D.D.,  Sc.D., 

author  of  Tenants  of  an  Old  Farm,  etc.,  with  one  hundred 
and  fifty  illustrations,  by  Dan  Beard,  Harry  L.  Poore  and 
others.  12mo,  cloth,  432  pages,  $1.50. 

EDINBURGH  SCOTSMAN. 

"The  story  tells  of  a  war  between  the  brownies  and  the  spiders, 
and  will  interest  a  child  by  the  oddity  and  strangeness  (greater 
than  a  purely  imaginative  writer  could  conceive)  of  the  devices  of 
strategy  and  warfare  to  which  the  spiders  resort.  The  illustra 
tions  to  the  book  are  partly  fanciful,  partly  true  to  the  nature  of 
spider  life,  and  they  serve  well  to  help  put  the  strong  natural  in 
terest  of  the  book.  A  story  so  fresh  in  its  idea  and  so  well  worked 
out  is  sure  to  please  a  young  reader,  and  to  lend  a  peculiar  attrac 
tion  to  the  study  of  natural  history.' ' 

SUNDAY-SCHOOL  TIMES. 

"He  not  only  brings  upon  insect  lives  the  acute  scientific  vis- 
sion,  but  he  enters  into  their  very  being  in  a  way  that  shows  inti 
mate  personal  relations  with  them.  He  joys  and  sorrows  with 
them.  These  little  creatures  of  his  love  not  only  invest  him  with 
their  characters,  but  he,  in  turn,  invests  them  with  human  charac 
teristics — or,  rather,  he  personifies  them  '  in  the  imaginary  crea 
tures  of  fairy  lore/  The  spiders  are  assigned  the  part  of  Pixies, 
the  ill-natured  fairies  of  Scotland.  The  Brownies,  or  friendly  folk, 
personify  those  insect  forms,  especially  those  useful  to  man, 
against  which  spiders  wage  continual  war.  The  nexus  between 
these  lower  creatures  and  human  life  is  established  by  the  intro 
duction  of  human  characters,  in  the  conflict  between  the  Pixies  and 
Brownies.  The  book  covers  the  range  of  emotion  from  humor  to 
pathos,  and  the  extraordinary  Pixie  performances  in  engineering, 
ballooning,  cave-making,  sailing,  are  scientific  facts,  picturesquely 
and  dramatically  painted." 

DETROIT  FREE  PRESS. 

"A  most  delightful  book,  one  which  will  enjoy  the  distinction 
which  Miss  Alcott  craved  for  Little  Women,  that  of  being  the  most 
soiled  and  thumb-worn  in  the  library." 

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THE  GOSPEL  IN  NATURE. 

Scripture  Truths  Illustrated  by  Facts 
in  Nature* 

By  REV.  HENRY  C.  McCOOK,  D.D., 

with   an   introduction  by   W.   Carruthers,   President   Linn. 
Society,  F.R.S.     New  edition,  12mo,  380  pages,  $1.00. 

PRESS  REVIEWS. 

From  the  Interior. — Dr.  McCook  ranges  through  the  earth 
and  air  finding  exemplifications  of  the  wisdom  and  power  of  the 
Almighty  Creator  in  the  hail  and  snow,  the  rain  and  the  rainbow, 
flowers  and  vines,  and  showing  both  forcibly  and  beautifully,  how 
the  elements  of  nature  can  be  used  to  illustrate  and  work  out  the 
Divine  Will,  and  the  knowledge  of  that  will  toward  man.  The 
work  is  one  of  wonderful  and  rare  attractiveness. 

From  the  Sunday-School  World. — Sunday-school  teachers  may 
find  here  admirable  illustrations  for  enforcing  Divine  truth. 
Young  ministers  may  get  impulses  for  enlarging  the  scope  of  their 
preaching,  that  they  may  unfold  more  adequately  the  wonderful 
works  of  the  God  of  Nature  and  the  God  of  Revelation. 

From  the  London  Nonconformist. — This  is  unquestionably  one 
of  the  class  of  volumes  which  we  can  afford  to  have  indefinitely 
multiplied.  Most  cordially  do  we  recommend  it.  We  commend 
the  volume  to  the  attention  of  preachers  and  of  intelligent  students 
of  Nature' sparables. 

From  the  Friends1  News,  of  London. — Studies  in  the  material 
world  are  worked  out  in  such  a  way  as  to  strengthen  one's  faith  in 
the  supernatural.  The  book  is  one  to  be  commended,  for  no  pur 
chaser  is  likely  to  be  disappointed. 

From  the  Scottish  Leader. — The  author  combines  in  an  unusual 
degree  the  power  of  accurate  observation  of  the  natural  world  with 
poetic  fancy  and  overmastering  fervor.  He  is,  perhaps,  at  his  best 
in  descriptions  of  nature,  which  give  evidence  of  a  loving  and 
patient  study,  not  merely  the  poetic,  generalizations  of  a  clever 
amateur.  Some  of  his  renderings,  such  as  a  night  in  the  woods, 
and  atmospheric  effects  in  the  Alps,  are  extremely  good  at  litera 
ture,  and  in  their  didaticuses  are  managed  with  much  ingenuity 
andforce. 

From  the  Church  Fortnightly. — Here  is  a  volume  of  sermons 
which  the  clergy  would  find  it  to  their  advantage  to  buy  and  read. 
The  taste  for  natural  science  is  growing  greatly  in  our  day.  It  is 
regarded  as  a  progressive  and  fruitful  department  of  knowledge. 
Congregations  will  willingly  listen  to  and  fully  appreciate  illustra 
tions  of  moral  and  spiritual  truth  derived  from  physical  science. 
Dr.  McCook  has  made  use  of  scientific  material,  and  that  with 
great  skill,  and  we  heartily  recommend  his  book,  especially  to  the 
clergy. 

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OVERDUE. 


NOV  25  1844 


LD  21-100m-7,'40  (6936s) 


I 


; 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


